Autumn Day
by smaugs-mommy
Summary: REVISED - three new chapters. Frodo loses his parents and has to cope with the tragic loss and his feelings of guilt.AN: Some chapters are Silmarillion-based; in these chapters Amroth is Galadriel's son.Disclaimer: Nothing is mine!
1. Prologue

_Prologue_

No birds were singing on that special late summer's morning. Fog was creeping silently from Baranduin's surface towards the smaller hobbit holes, and towards Brandy Hall, yet nobody saw it come, as the Shire was still asleep. The hobbits had gone to bed late last night.

Both the silence and the sleepiness that covered the small green country were unusual, especially at that time of the year. There were cattle to be fed, breakfasts to be made and it was also the time of reaping. The grass was high enough for the young children to play hide and seek. It had to be cut soon.

On every other morning young hobbit lads and lasses would have been awake and outside already, collecting apples and mushrooms well before sunrise. Thus they would be able to have breakfast not only once, but twice – the first before heading off, and the second when they came back. There even would have been the possibility to have a third breakfast when the grownups had their second…

But today was not like every other morning.

The air was cold, and the leaves - some of them were already red and golden - rippled in the icy wind. The stars did not fade away. Even as the sun rose and long golden fingers caressed the green hills of the Shire, the stars remained where they were, sparkling in eternal silence, waiting for something. Or someone.

Still, Middle – Earth had seen other mornings like this one. The fog, the stars, which refused to fade and the cold wind were naught but foreshadows of a cold autumn. And shadows were nothing that would have caused Middle-Earth to care. It had seen the rise and fall of many shadows, and as the ages proceeded it had come to the conclusion that there was no reason to be scared of shadows. If there was a shadow, there had to be a light nearby.

To Middle – Earth it was just another morning, life went on and Primula Baggins woke with a startled cry. As soon as her hazel eyes snapped open she had forgotten what her dream had been about, but she knew it had been a nightmare and she was sure she had cried at some point, for her pillow was damp.

It was not exceptionally dark anymore, yet the dim light that fell through her window was of a bluish grey. Even her colourful blankets seemed to be a part of a pale dream. She had loved this room, ever since she had been a child. It had a big window, through which she could see the branches of an old apple-tree. It been old, when she had been a child, and it was still there, blossoming and fading, unaffected by her worries. The wooden ceiling was of a dark brown. When she had been a child, she had seen faces in the wood. She would make up stories and speak to the faces when nobody else was willing to listen to her never-ceasing babblings. Now it was too dark to see the faces, but Primula was sure that they were still there, although her childhood seemed long ago and far away now.

She sat up and leant against the cold wall, sighing and caressing her round belly softly. She had had several bad dreams since she had fallen pregnant, but she didn't blame it on him or her. After all, when you were pregnant uneasy nights were as normal as having biscuits for breakfast and then wolfing down a bowl of pickled vegetables. At least that was what she had been told by her sisters.

The unborn child stirred. Maybe it was haunted by nightmares too. It kept stirring, and Primula started to hum a lullaby, trying to reassure the little one - and herself. Her voice was distant and low, her hands shook with pain and her curls were damp. She was forced to stop singing after the first two verses. Hoping that it would ease the sudden pain, she stretched out again and snuggled into the blankets. She closed her big eyes, gasping for breath and feeling faintish.

Deep inside, sheltered by the warmth of Primula's body, the child turned around. It had moved before, but this time it didn't feel right. Sudden waves of pain made her sit up again and clutch her stomach. Where was Drogo?

What did the pain mean? She knew, she knew far too well. She covered her belly with her hands, panic-stricken. "No," she whispered. The pain increased, as if it was laughing at her.

"No," she whispered again and closed her eyes. The blankets were warm and wet. _"No," _

There was no noise from outside, only silence behind the windows, no voices in Brandy Hall. Was there still an outside? Or had the world diminished to her small room, where she was lying, losing her child because it was

(_There is nobody here to help you) _

too early, far too early; the healer had told her, that she' d be mother in October, but not sooner. And her sisters had all agreed.

(_You are going to lose your child, and you'll be all alone, and nobody will hear you cry)_

She had never heard of a child that had survived being born a month too early

_(You've lost one child already. Now you will lose the next) _

And the world was silent, silent but for the terrible voice in her head.

"Stop it! " Primula screamed, now deathly pale " Stop it!"

Utmost silence. No birds. The thick white fog had found its way to Brandy Hall; it was waiting outside for an innocent soul to get lost. No more voices in her head. Even her child had calmed down. Perhaps this was another dream. She tried to relax, tried to think good thoughts, and within minutes she was asleep and knew no more.

The first birds began to greet the new day.

The fog dissolved and was soon no more than a memory.

IIIII

A few minutes later, Drogo came in and woke Primula with a late breakfast, but she was not hungry at all.

"Are you alright, love?" Drogo asked, his round blue eyes troubled. Primula's mother used to say that Drogo's eyes were half of what Primula was in love with. Primula had never told her mother, but Mirabella had probably been right.

"Yes," she said and kissed his nose, and then started nibbling on his ears. " I am…I am…" her voice changed. She clutched her belly. "Too…early," she whimpered. Drogo's eyes widened. "Who's too early?" he asked. "What are you talking about?"

"…Help…" she moaned and fainted. Suddenly, Drogo understood.

Drogo rushed out of the room. _'help'_ he thought '_I have to get help'. _Running down the corridors he had to admit that he had known what Primula was trying to tell him from the very beginning, but it had been too painful to catch the meaning of what she had been saying. Too early…

Outside, life was going on. Children were playing some silly game; they were holding each other by their hands and sang a stupid little song. Something a pitiable farmer, who grew fat and then grew thin again…poor old farmer Finnigin.

Drogo usually liked to listen to them, sometimes he even joined them, in spite of being older than some of their parents, but today their senseless songs filled him with rage. And he hated himself for it. He was not like this.

Blindly, he grabbed a young, comparatively fair-haired boy by his shoulders. "Go and tell the healer to come here. My wife is dying!" The boy's lower lip started to quiver, perhaps because he was really sad about what he had just heard, perhaps because Drogo had hurt his shoulder. Drogo let go of the younger hobbit. "Get the healer," he repeated. "Quick. Please."

But the healer lived at the other end of the Shire. Drogo knew that, and the young boy knew it too. It would take the healer days to get here. And Primula needed help as soon as possible. Drogo was sure they'd not be able to save the child. But they had to save Primula. He loved her so dearly. Having to live without her would be unbearable. Why had he not been there tonight? It took him some moments until he remembered that Primula had been in a thoroughly bad mood the night before and that she had wanted to be alone, just this once.

"My mum knows how to help when women are giving birth," the boy's face brightened as he spoke "Ivy has helped others before…"

"Then tell her to come!" Screamed Drogo, tears cascading down his face. So long had he and Primula been waiting for a child. They had been disappointed once. Primula had lost the little girl and afterwards she had been tired and ill for a long time. They had been both happy and concerned years later, when Primula had told him that she was pregnant again. As the months passed by, their fears diminished and their hearts filled with joy. "But I'm here," said a soft voice and interrupted his thoughts. Drogo felt deeply ashamed for having shouted at this child whose mother might be the one to save his beloved. Ivy had heard the shouting, but she remained polite, and asked if she could be of any help.

Things happened very fast, then.

Ivy sent Drogo for a walk and told him not to be back before dawn. She did not want any men to be around. Drogo would have preferred to stay with Primula, but he obeyed.

IIIII

It was dark outside, when he came back.

He could hear Primula's screams before he entered her room. As he stood at the threshold, a breeze came up, and the fire that had lit the room flickered and was gone. Primula's voice died with the fire's light. Panicking, Drogo entered the room, stumbling over chairs and almost falling into a basin with warm water.

Finally Ivy managed to light a candle. Her face was as grey as ashes. She held the newborn child's limp body in her arms, avoiding Drogo's gaze and sobbing silently.

Primula did not move. Her once bright curly hair was damp and lifeless, sticking to her face. Her eyes were half-closed, white orbs glittering eerily. There was blood everywhere, red blood turning black in the candle's flickering dim light. The sheets were soaked, and Ivy's face and hands were covered in it. It was dripping onto the floor, and it bore the smell of death.

Everything seemed to be wrong. The child didn't scream. And Primula had stopped breathing.

Ivy asked Drogo to help her with the child. The hobbit could hear her voice, but did not understand a word. He did not care. He did not care about the child. He did not care at all. He did not even want to look at it. And while Ivy bathed the small being, he pressed his lips upon Primula's and breathed for her. And breathed, and each breath tasted of salt and tears.

Far, far away he could hear Ivy sobbing.

He breathed, he breathed for his love. His hands found a fluttering pulse, but still Primula was pale and did not move, and did not breathe.

"He is way too small," Ivy sobbed.

A son. So the child was a son. Drogo did not care. He breathed.

"Little one," Ivy's voice, sad and soft and soothing, as though the child she was talking to was her own. "Don't you leave us. Stay with us." Drogo lifted his head to look at her. Ivy held the newborn child in her arms, rocking it gently. Tears were streaming down her face.

Looking down at Primula, a part of Drogo did not believe what he was seeing. She was awake. _Alive._

"Where is he?" she moaned, "Where's Frodo?"

Ivy was amazed that Primula obviously knew her child was a boy. But how…how was she supposed to tell her…

"Where is he?" Ivy felt as if someone had slapped her across the face.

"Primula," she wept, "he is too small. He doesn't scream. He's barely breathing," another sob escaped from her lips. "He is not going to make it."

And with these words she put the small child into Primula's outstretched arms. The little one remained silent, but snuggled instinctively into his mother's warm embrace.

"Of course he'll make it," she said, looking at her husband with a grateful smile, "He's a Baggins!"

Drogo sat down at her side, still blinded by his tears. He touched the precious bundle softly. "He's got your eyes," managed Primula. -"All babies have blue eyes," answered Drogo.

"He has got your hair as well," were the last words Primula spoke before she fell asleep.


	2. First Chapter Childhood

First Chapter - Childhood

Against all odds, Frodo lived and he became a very healthy, very lively young lad, who would snatch biscuits from the kitchen and steal his aunts' hearts with the same ease.

He spent most of his childhood climbing trees and being up to no good. He and his parents lived in a cosy hobbit hole in the east of Hobbiton until Frodo turned seven. Then his mother found out that Frodo had not made any friends yet, although he got along well with everyone. Primula and Drogo had a major disagreement, but in the end it was decided that they were going back to Brandy Hall. There, Primula hoped, it would be easier for Frodo to find friends.

But even there, among many happy children, he remained alone. He never complained about it, and his parents, who had their own lives to life, never found out. They saw him leave together with the other young hobbits in the mornings and they saw him come back surrounded by others. Yet they did not see him, sitting on a high brunch humming to himself and dreaming of great adventures. They never knew that sometimes he would spend hours lying flat on his back, watching the clouds, alone.

The other children soon started to think that Frodo was a bit odd, but they liked him nonetheless. Yet there were some, who only liked him, because they were afraid of what his parents might tell their own parents, if they found out that their children did not like Frodo at all.

Frodo did not care. He had his parents, and his stories, and he was glad they had moved to Brandy Hall. There were more kitchens there than in their small hobbit hole in Hobbiton – a circumstance that made snatching biscuits much easier.

Sometimes he missed his uncle Bilbo, though. Frodo adored him for knowing so many fascinating stories. When they had been living in Hobbiton he had spent many weekends at his uncle's. The older hobbit did not have much time for a child as young as Frodo, but he liked the little one, and he was proud when the child could articulate the words "Uncle Bilbo" (or at least something that was definitely meant to be _uncle Bilbo)_ at the age of three.

Now that they were living in Brandy Hall, the visits got rare, and rarer and then there were no more visits in Bag End. Bilbo would come now and then, but when Frodo turned twelve he had not seen his uncle once in three years.

He still spent most of his days on his own. His parents had not found out, yet his mother had realized that Frodo was not entirely like the other children. He was a bit taller than many and fairer than most. She would call him her 'elfling' when he was not listening. Otherwise he was a child like all the others – overly talkative, always hungry, slightly annoying and very endearing.

Frodo and Primula shared a secret, though.

The young boy slept in the room that had been Primula's. He often fell asleep while he was watching the apple tree's branches swaying to and fro. She never asked him if he saw faces in the ceiling as well, but she was almost sure he did. The child had a vivid imagination indeed.

IIIII

Late at night, when Frodo was already drowsy from running all day and from watching the tree, Primula came in to kiss him good night. She would find her son in half-doze, blue eyes already closed, small hands limp, his tired young soul seemingly welcoming the night's silence.

Yet sometimes the bed was deserted, and Frodo would stand at the open window, staring at the dark sky, an eerie little smile lingering at the corners of his lips, his face ghostly white.

There were reflections of starts dancing in the depth of eyes, even when the sky was clouded, even when there were no stars at all. Eventually Frodo would turn around, his eyes still reflecting a light that was not there, his lips still smiling. Sometimes he would recognize his mother, and sometimes he would not. The occasions on which he recognized her were rare, and even when he knew who she was, his gaze would remain distant, fixed upon places Primula could not behold.

Now and then, Primula tried to talk to her son when he was in this peculiar state. Much to her surprise, the child would answer.

"Mother," he whispered, his voice barely audible, "Can't you hear them?"

She shook her head.

"But they are singing…oh how I wish you could hear it…" And the light in his eyes grew still brighter.

He talked about things Primula didn't understand. One night he told her a long story about the Ainur and their music and about how much he wished she could hear it too.

At some point he would sway and his mother would catch him as he swooned and she would tuck him in and spend the night holding vigil over her son's deep sleep.

It had started when he was a toddler, and now he was twelve, and yet looked so small in his long, white night gown, and when he was asleep his face was still that of the child he had been.

This - the music only Frodo could hear - was the secret they shared. But there was another secret; a terrible secret Frodo would not share with anyone. It was due to the second secret that there was another difference between Frodo and the other children:

His dreams. He always dreamed; it did not make a difference if he was asleep or awake. Yet the dreams he had while being awake, while lying in the grass or sitting in a tree were pleasant. In those dreams he would slay dragons and save Middle – Earth.

The other dreams were disturbing and horrible; they made him want to cry and to never fall asleep again. There was an eye in these dreams, a huge red eye that would burn everyone, who dared to look at it. In his dreams, the young hobbit never managed to look away, and his gaze remained fixed upon the burning eye, as if there was a huge black hand, which forced his head to look straight ahead at the terrible fire and another hand that forced his eyes to stay open.

When he woke, the eye would still be there for a few seconds, not red any longer, but green, etched to the ceiling, watching him. Seeing him. Finding him, when he tried to hide under the blankets.

The older he got, the more detailed became the dream. As a child he had never realized the smell of burning flesh. He had not been in excruciating pain, either. Both had started about a year ago. There were times when Frodo did not want to get any older, as he was not sure how much more he would be able to bear in his dreams.

The lad never told anyone about his dreams. He did not dare to do so. There were days when he did not even dare thinking about it while he was awake. He was too scared by the mere thought of blinking and seeing the eye. He feared that his dream might come true.

That was a stupid fear, of course, stupid and childish. Later he would tell himself that he had been incredibly silly, forgetting about the fact that he had been a child back then. Forgetting about something Bilbo had told him.

_Children have huge eyes and seeing hearts and in their dreams they see more than others do. And sometimes their dreams come true._

The grown-up Frodo would not remember these words. But the child did, and he wondered if Bilbo knew how much he had scared him by saying such words.

For sometimes dreams come true.


	3. Second chapter The last night

Second chapter

_The last night _

He was swimming in what seemed to be a river, except that it was far too deep to be a river. The water was freezing, the waves were huge and the rain was as sharp as spears. Every now and then he was forced to take deep breaths because the waves slammed him down to the sandy bottom and it took him a long time to reach the surface again. He had stopped screaming for help long ago, when scary black birds, which had no name, had caught his cries and screamed and echoed the syllables overhead, their sharp beaks glittering with fresh blood. The waters were dark and he felt cold and exhausted and frightened. His neck hurt from his constant struggle to look up. A new wave smashed into him and he swallowed more water. He began to cough and more waves crashed over him. He breathed water, it filled his lungs and he finally gave up fighting and he sank, slowly, ever so slowly, to the ground.

But there was no ground. All that was around him was mere darkness; there was nowhere to sink, nowhere to fall, and nowhere to fly.

Darkness.

He was not in the river anymore now. He was lying on cold rocks that bit into his back and a red moon rose from behind black mountains. The moon was bloated and his colour made the hobbit think of fresh spilled blood. Unable to move, Frodo watched as the moon gradually turned around and it was just then that he realized that he was no longer staring at the moon, but at the eye. _The eye…_

It roared and soon Frodo found himself being wrapped into flames. His skin caught fire. He could smell how his hair burned and as pain ripped through his hands he saw that his fingers had melted into each other. Slowly, his skin turned black. And he deserved the pain; because he had not saved the ones he loved …he had not been able to save them and thus deserved this and much more…

IIIII

The young hobbit stirred restlessly. He threw himself from one side to the other and finally out of his bed. There he remained for a few minutes, gasping and trembling and not knowing where, left alone who he was. His eyes were open, but he was gazing at the ceiling blankly, still seeing the eye, still feeling the painful sensation of flames eating their way through his skin.

Bit by bit the dream faded away. Frodo stood up, still feeling dizzy and very cold, as always after a dream. He crawled back into his bed and pulled the duvet up to his neck. He silently begged for sleep to come fast and without further dreams. He also begged for his mother to come soon. Never would he have admitted this to one of the other young hobbits. He had just turned twelve and thus he was far too old to let himself being comforted by his mother. But right now he didn't care about what the others might think. They'd never find out anyway. It was either very late or very early and they were most likely sound asleep now.

He waited for his mother a long time.

The small round window to his room was half open. Outside, a full moon cast a pallid light upon the continuously murmuring river and caused dappled shadows to chase each other over the white walls of Frodo's little room.

His mother didn't come and the thought of calling for her seemed too embarrassing. The way to her room seemed very long and cold, now that he was starting to drift away again.

With a shuddering sigh he closed his eyes and sank back into the depths of sleep's realms. And as he was walking a lonely, winding road that was covered with snow, she came in, and sat on the side of his bed and asked if he was asleep. He nodded and she smiled. Primula's finger trailed across his forehead and then she kissed him gently. His eyes fluttered open and for a moment he thought that she was just another dream. She didn't look real with her long hair falling over her shoulders in soft curls; she didn't look real with her pale face shimmering in the light of a single candle. He sat up quickly and hugged her, hoping to get rid of the peculiar feeling. She hugged him back and he thought that it would be all right now to tell her about his dreams. But he did not. Primula tilted his head back a little, so that she could look at him. "Why are you so sad, dear?" she asked. "I'm not sad," whispered Frodo.

"Is it because of tomorrow?" guessed his mother. The young lad shook his head. Tomorrow Primula and his father would go on a boating trip together and he would have to stay with Lily, who was his older cousin. He really liked her and was looking forward to seeing her again.

But now that his mother mentioned it – somehow it did not feel good. It did not feel good at all. There was his dream, on the one hand. He had drowned in a river and was scared that the same thing might happen to his parents. And there was something else on the other hand. He had accidentally overheard Saradoc saying there would be storms tomorrow. Going on a boat trip with a storm coming was not a good idea.

Frodo sighed and rested his head against his mother's shoulder, curling his fingers into her reddish hair. He loved his parents. He wanted them to have a good time and he was afraid to spoil it by telling them about what Saradoc had said earlier last morning.

"It is suicide," he had growled "Going on that river on a stormy day is mere suicide." Nobody had listened. Saradoc was a bit of a grump and they were all used to it.

But in case he wasn't just being grumpy that time…what if Saradoc had been right? What if something happened to his parents tomorrow? It would be his fault, wouldn't it?

Frodo could not tell his mother. She would stay here, if he told her not to go away, but he wanted her and Drogo to have some time on their own.

To his own horror, something that sounded like a sob escaped from his throat.

His mother started to reassuringly rub his back. "There, there," she said, "It will be alright. We will be back just in the right time to tuck you in." She waited for him to say "_But I don't need to be tucked in_" in a very indignant voice, but he was silent, looking at her with his large eyes full of sorrow. "Do you promise?" he pleaded suddenly. This was so very unlike him, that Primula once more touched his brow, this time checking his temperature. She feared that he might have fallen ill. He felt perfectly normal, though. A little bit too cold for her liking, but her son's cold brow was not much of a surprise, seeing that the window was still half open. Gently she cushioned her son back onto his bed, reached for the window and closed it. Frodo was still looking at her; his eyes suddenly brimming with unshed tears.

"…Do you promise?" he asked again. Primula smiled. "Of course," she said, "of course I do"

Her son sighed again, nuzzling deeper into his pillows.

"Frodo?" He looked up. "I think I have to tell you something. I 'm actually not supposed to tell you about that yet… but your father has a surprise for you." "Has he?"

Was there the hint of a smile in her son's waxen face? "He has," she agreed "he's going to take you fishing with him next week. Just the two of you. A whole day with your father. Now how's that?"

How much a simple thing could change a child's mood! There were no more tears wetting her son's dark lashes and his smile brightened his whole face. "Is he really going to do that?" exclaimed Frodo with anticipation. Primula nodded. Frodo closed his eyes; all bad were thoughts far away now. "But," he yawned, "we are not going to kill them are we? Can't we just watch them…I don't like to kill. It's not right…"

"But you like to _eat_ fish, don't you?" Primula could not suppress a grin. Frodo opened his eyes, pouted, but nodded.

"Just tell him," said Primula, " Your father will be delighted to hear that. He doesn't like killing fishes, either. Sometimes I can't believe how much he is like you" Her son's eyes dropped closed once, twice and each time they stayed closed longer.

"Mother," he said, suddenly wide awake again

"Why do people have to die…?" His mother remained silent for a long time. "I don't know," she admitted finally. Frodo's eyes fluttered closed once more. "And you…?" he asked in a very small voice "Will you too, one day, die?"

He was weeping again and Primula felt dreadfully helpless. She was close to tears herself now. "Yes, sweetheart, I will," she replied, "But not yet. Not yet". She gathered her fragile child into her arms and started to gently rock him to and fro. "Not yet," she said again. "Don't you worry, dear. I'll be here as long as you need me." Frodo flung his arms around her neck and whispered confused little nothings. "Hush," Primula soothed "You'll be alright. Everything is going to be fine. You're tired, that's why you are so confused. You'll feel better after a good nights sleep…hush now…." She looked down on her son's dark head and remembered the night when he had been born. How small had he been then! How small and cold and yet a real hobbit already, with his pointy ears and furry feet.

He had been too small and weak to be blessed. For a child, the Blessing meant spending a night outside with his parents. For everybody invited a Blessing meant heaps of food and presents. But he had been too weak. And Primula had been forced to stay in bed for almost a month. They had told her that she would never have a second child. That she didn't mind. She had Frodo and she did not want any other child but him.

Now he had calmed down and was resting peacefully in her arms. She waited for almost an hour before she left and went back to the room she shared with Drogo. As she reached for the door Frodo suddenly gave a strangled scream. '_Drowning,' _thought Primula, '_he sounds as if he was drowning_'. She rushed back to his bed and mentally prepared herself for another hour of comforting. She was very tired now and thought that it might be better to take him with her and make Drogo sleep on the floor or in Frodo's bed. He would do that, she was sure about that. Drogo would do anything to help his son. But of course Frodo would rather spend the night outside under a tree than having his father sleep on the floor.

There it was again, the choked little noise, not as loud as the scream, but even more pathetic so. She bent over him and softly called his name. He gasped and his eyes snapped open. He was relieved to see his mother, to see her alive, that was. For in his dream she had been dead and all that beautiful curly hair had been covered in mud, but her tongue had been worse, swollen and blue and…no…he would not think of it.

" What is it, love?" asked Primula.

"Nothing," he would not think of it. "A dream." His mother would be scared if he told her. "Just a dream."

"Are you sure?" she asked and then offered him to come and sleep in hers and Drogo's bed. That, of course, was tempting, but he was almost a grown-up now (or at least thought he was) and almost grown-up hobbits didn't sleep in their parents' bed.

So he just shook his head and smiled. His mother smiled back in response. It was like that how he would remember her later, as the beautiful lady at the side of his bed. The beautiful lass with sparkles in her brown eyes, her soft lips curving into a smile.

"It will be alright," she said again and then she left and the door closed behind her with a sigh.

It was the last time Frodo ever saw his mother.

And that was a blessing.

TBC


	4. Chapter three Rain

**Chapter three - Rain**

Primula Baginns had many cousins, just like every hobbit in the Shire. Her favourite cousin, Lily Took, was more than twenty years younger than her.

The young woman was still unmarried. She had left Great Smials, the place where she had been born, to live on her own. Her hobbit hole looked like a small green hill and consisted of two rooms, a small bathroom and a kitchen. The latter was the warmest room and the biggest.

The kitchen's walls were of a dark green and the old gentle-hobbit, who had lived there before Lily had drawn a line of small, round apples and yellow peas. In spite of the dark walls, it was a very friendly room, due to two cooperatively big windows that looked south. The kitchen and the room next to the kitchen, Lily's sleeping room, were the only rooms, which had windows at all. The other bedroom was very cosy, but especially in winter it was a rather dark room.

Lily spent most of her evenings in the kitchen, cooking or sewing or just watching the world, as it fell asleep outside. She was alone, but she was never lonely.

The hobbit hole's round front door was painted in a friendly yellow, like Easter-lilies in spring. There was another door at the other side of the hill; it led to a small garden, where Lily grew her vegetables, herbs and some flowers. The hobbit also owned a few chickens and a goat, which was called Nimrodel, like an elven-maid in one of Lily's favourite stories.

She earned her money by sewing colourful dresses and by selling the eggs she did not need for herself. Lily and Primula did not have much in common, still they had been friends for many years, and their friendship had deepened after Frodo's birth.

IIIII

Butter, eggs and salt were sticking to her hands. Rose was busy baking bread and chattering continually; Lily was dreaming and did not listen until Rose stood right in front of her.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked. "A young, handsome man?"

Lily grinned. "Yes," came her answer and_ you are lying_ sang an early bird.

"His name is Frodo," she added.

Frodo was her cousin's son and twelve years of age.

And even though he did not like to hear it, he was what Lily's cousin from Bree later called absolutely gorgeous. He had his father's blue eyes and his unruly black hair but his lips where his mother's (that she denied) and so where his hands (that she also denied).

Primula and Lily had spent many afternoons and many cups of tea talking about Frodo, about how beautiful that child was both inside and outside. He had no guile. He had no envy. He had no jealousness.

Although Lily did not tell her Primula, she supposed he was also a little bit spoilt.

And he had the unlucky talent of getting himself into trouble.

Once most of his relatives had been invited to Brandy Hall to discuss on some important topic or on something that Saradoc, who was still very young at that time, called important. It was him who held a very long (very grumpy) speech and as he was reaching the end he suddenly broke of. The other hobbits, all of them older than Saradoc, could see how the young hobbit started to tremble. With a look of disbelief spreading over his face he peered under the large table. And there was Frodo, wearing naught but his skin and a broad grin. Somehow he had managed to escape from his bed and to crawl into the room and his uncle's toes must have looked juicy to him, because there he was, gnawing on Saradoc's toe like a puppy on an exceptionally tasty bone.

Saradoc never managed to end his speech.

Primula had not been able to be present at the council; she had been too sick and too tired. Lily had told her about the incident later, and both had laughed tears.

"I don't know what's so funny," said Primula sarcastically between gasps, "He could have gotten poisoned. What a pity he doesn't have any teeth yet."

Saradoc, however, was not amused at all and kept telling everybody who listened (and even those who didn't) that Frodo Baggins would end up being as weird and _unhobbity_ as his uncle Bilbo.

The child was only one and a half years old then and it was the first time Frodo had earned himself Saradoc's grouchiness. Over the years that followed it became obvious that Saradoc thought that the child was of no use, a waste of time and he kept telling Primula that Frodo needed more discipline and that she was being too soft with him. He did so more often, when Frodo and his parents moved to Brandy Hall. As an answer, Primula used to laugh and hug her child and Saradoc would go into his bedroom to sulk a bit.

Little did he know that one day soon it would be him, who would have to take care of Frodo.

IIIII

Lily kept thinking of the lad, while Rose still stared at her, wanting her to go on about that handsome, young man, who was called Frodo. Lily had a good reason to think of the lad – he would spend the next day with her.

His parents had planned to go on a boat trip and now they were afraid that something could happen to their dearest one, who could not swim yet. It had been months since Lily had seen him last. Frodo and his parents were living in Brandy Hall, together with Primula's family, most of the other Brandybucks and some Tooks, where as Lily had settled down in an isolated hobbit hole at the banks of the Brandywine. It was a two hours walk from their place to hers.

Her cousin Rose from Bree had come to visit her. She had been there for a couple of weeks and today was her last day. She would depart in the evening and was now baking her famous bread. Chances were, that she would never meet Frodo.

And because Lily had always liked to tease her younger cousin, she gave her cousin some more detailed information concerning the handsome young man.

"You'd love him," she said, " He is very sweet. Big blue eyes and lips just wanting to be kissed, soft dark curls and…"

"Yes?" asked her dear cousin from Bree eagerly, not realizing that Lily was joking.

"And he would probably love you too. He is warm and cuddly and he likes to snuggle up close. And he is always very happy, nothing ever spoils his good mood…"

Rose sighed. "And he is only coming tomorrow," she mourned, "But you are surely going to tell me everything, aren't you?"

"I promise," said Lily, nodding and already starting to make up a story in her mind. She just couldn't help doing so.

Rose told her to go out into the garden to get some parsley for her bread. Lily frowned; using parsley to bake bread never had crossed her mind. "Parsley," she thought, still amused. "Who would have thought? Maybe that's why my bread never tastes as good as hers."

She grasped a knife and left the kitchen through the back door.

Once she was outside, she shuddered. Goosebumps spread over her arms. It was a lovely warm morning, but to some extent it was _too_ warm. It was autumn, after all, but the morning felt like a midsummer's day. The air was too heavy, like thunderstorms coming. The air was too sweet. As sweet and disgusting as rotten fruit. Or caked blood. The air had a stench of death to it …

"Don't be stupid," murmured the hobbit, as she cut the parsley and got back into the kitchen – slightly faster than usual and much faster then necessary.

Nimrodel watched her for a moment, and sunlight got caught in her yellow eyes. Then she lowered her head and continued to search for the youngest, tastiest grass.

IIIII

When Lily came in, she saw two dark-haired figures standing at the threshold.

Unmistakably, there were Frodo and his father standing at the door.

Oh no.

Were they not supposed to come tomorrow?

Obviously not.

Very unlike Primula, Lily never had been good at organizing anything. She was what her father lovingly had called a 'scatterbrain'. She bit her lips and prayed for Frodo to stay silent. Her prayers were in vain, though.

"Hello dear," said Rose and bent over to ruffle Frodo's dark curls. "Now, what's your name?"

Before the child could answer, she said: "My, but you are cute. Sooo cute! And these lovely chubby cheeks of yours. I just have to pinch them!"

She'd better not said that. She'd better not touched his cheeks. Frodo knitted his eyebrows and gave her a look of such frustration that Lily could almost hear his thoughts. None too friendly they were. But then he smiled and stretched out a small white hand. "I'm Frodo Baggins," he said politely "Son of Drogo Baggins." And Lily wished for the earth to open and swallow her whole.

"Oh," muttered Rose and looked up with an expression on her face that said, "We'll talk later".

Frodo must have spotted his mother's cousin then, because he smiled and waved and only seconds later he was hugging her and Lily was marvelling about how much he had grown during the last few months.

Even while she was hugging him, Lily was swept away by his ingenious chatter. He did not even breathe between sentences. Lily had to laugh, and he laughed, too, and he looked very young, despite being tall and almost skinny for his age.

When both had calmed down, Lily told him that he could have his favourite room – the room next to the kitchen. He beamed at her and nodded, and then, with another hug, a kiss and a swirl of dark curls he was gone.

His father followed, smirking all over his face and carrying a small bag that contained a new shirt for the very likely case that the shirt Frodo was wearing now got dirty, and a nightgown for the very unlikely case that Frodo had to stay at Lily's overnight.

IIIII

No sooner had they left the kitchen, that Rose started giggling madly, her grey eyes sparkling.

"Warm and cuddly, eh?" and _bang _went her fists into the bread.

"Please," gasped Lily, "Rose…let me explain, I…'

_Ouch_ went the bread, as Rose flattened it with her arms.

"Big blue eyes and lips just waiting to be kissed?" _help_ went the dough and help went Lily for Rose's eyes were gleaming with vengeance.

It was Frodo, who rescued her, Frodo, who suddenly rushed out of his room and into the kitchen, where he grabbed a big pan and told Rose not to harm his friend.

It was a morning full of happy laughter and when Drogo left, he was still smiling.

Frodo waved him goodbye, mirth shining in his eyes.

Drogo had promised that he and Primula would be back in the early evening to either kiss him goodnight or take him home with them.

Lily gave Frodo some apples and then she sent him out to play.

"Don't get too close to the river," she called, "the banks can be very swampy here".

He did not hear her anymore, but it did not matter. He had played close to the river many a time and he knew where it was swampy.

His mother's cousin watched as the lad hobbled away, singing and being perfectly happy.

In the late afternoon, it began to rain.

Rose was worried about Frodo, but Lily wasn't. The child was not stupid and would be back well before dark, or even sooner. He would not stay in the rain if he thought it was dangerous. Afternoon changed to evening. Grey light changed to thick, foggy darkness.

Rose was nibbling at her nails and Lily started to be anxious, too.

Together, both hobbits cooked dinner, as Rose had decided to stay another night. The weather was ghastly, cold and foggy, and Rose was not too eager to travel back to Bree on a day like this. The last light faded and was replaced by a bluish darkness, yet there was still no sign of Frodo.

_Don't get too close to the river._

Had something happened?

Lily set the table for three, her face pale and her hands shaking slightly. In the end Frodo came back, just when Lily stepped out to search for him. He was running, and looked somewhat frightened.

He was pale. His skin had always been fair, like his mother's but now he was a lot paler than usual. His face was almost greenish, with rain dripping from his curls into his eyes.

"Where have you been, dear?" asked Lily. Frodo's eyes avoided hers and she was not quite sure, if the large drops on his cheeks were rain or tears. "I'm sorry," he breathed, "for being late".

"Never mind," Rose shrugged and offered him a towel. "Dry your hair and then come and eat with us. You'll like my bread."

Frodo got changed and sat down at the table with the others, but all he ate was a tiny slice of bread.

They had heaps of lovely food, yet Frodo was not interested in it. That was an alarming sign. "Are you feeling well?" asked Rose.

Frodo nodded silently and without even so much as looking at her.

"Are you sure dear?" she raised her eyebrows.

"Mrmpf," he made and covered his mouth with his hands. A single tear ran down his cheek .He staggered out of the kitchen and into the rain. Lily could hear that outside he was retching heavily.

"That child is a marvel," his mother had said, "Never gets sick"

This had been only a few months ago. Most children had caught the measles. Frodo was one of the very few who did not get as much as a cough.

And now he was sick for the first time in his life and his parents were not here to comfort him. Lily was not sure whether they would come at all, considering the heavy rain. They knew he was save and it was very likely that they would only come the next morning.

Frodo tried to be brave and smiled when he came in again.

Lily stood up, taking Frodo's clammy little hands and smiling at him. Gently, she led him into his room. He was cold; the short time in the rain had soaked his clothes. He was close to a faint and so Lily made him sit down on the bed and started to unbutton his shirt. Too late he noticed that she was actually _undressing _him .He pushed her hands away and mumbled "Can do this alone."

She carefully let go of him and he slumped onto the pillows straight away. "Don't worry," said Lily "I have seen you naked before and I won't tell anyone anything." He whimpered and curled into a little ball, and thus made taking his shirt of almost impossible for her. But in the end he was so exhausted that it did not matter to him anymore. He did not move and Lily hoped that he had fallen asleep. She handed the wet clothes to Rose, who took them with her into the kitchen. There they would dry soon over the warm hearth. Frodo sighed in his sleep and Lily caressed his shoulders. He winced in pain and turned over.

In shock she gazed at the ugly red marks that covered Frodo's back and thighs. Somebody had beaten the lad until he bled! And some wounds were still bleeding.

It must have happened only hours ago. Quickly, Lily helped her cousin into the nightgown and wrapped him in several layers of blankets. She wished he would sleep through it. Of course, he did not. His eyes were incredibly sad as he asked her not to be upset. " _I am upset_," growled Lily, "but not because of you. Who did that?"

Whoever had done it, he would have to have a very good excuse. Nobody was to harm her precious little nephew and to get away with it. Frodo shook his head.

"Don't be," he begged, "it was my fault." By now he was almost drowning in colourful blankets, but when Lily closed her eyes, she could still see the crimson welts. She had no idea what to say.

"My fault," repeated Frodo, and then he started crying and nothing Lily did or said would pacify him. He asked her to let him alone. She kissed his brow and left.

Rose and Lily finished dinner in silence. Behind the door Frodo kept sobbing and sobbing.

Lily thought that he was still grieving about getting beaten, but soon she would know better.

The wind was rising, storm was raging and rain was pouring down from heaven in large, cold drops.

A flash of light left a large sparkling scar in the sky and for seconds a frosty blue light illuminated the tress and the hills. Everything threw long shadows and the rocks outside in the garden looked like goblins, with water running from their faces like blood.

_The sky opened and bled a nightmare,__ thought Lily. It was a line from one of the most terrifying tales she had ever read._

The darkness after the flash was almost unbearable.

Lily could hear how the rain grew heavier, how it turned to frozen snow. The storm shook the trees and ripped off their fading leafs.

Rose took their plates and started to rinse them. Lily wiped the table and listened closely. There were no more muffled sobs coming from Frodo's room now. But there was something else, a noise in front of their door, and her first frightened thought was that the stone goblins would come in now to slaughter them all. A stupid thought, but it was dark and cold and the thunderstorm was raging and suddenly she also recalled the feeling she had had earlier that day. The air had been too heavy; too sweet…there was the noise again. Rose was peering through the window next to the door. "Did you hear that?" she asked.

IIIII

_The child was imprisoned in troubled dreams._

_Foul creatures came to stand at Frodo's window, they came to look in and consume him and his fears. And with each flash that ravaged the sky they came closer and closer…until their icy breath turned the window into a blind, white surface. They were still there, waiting for him, but he could not see them any longer._

_All he could do was to lie in his bed, petrified, incapable of moving or thinking. The goblins had large hands and strong fists and now they had started to brake Lily's windows. Frodo could hear how they shattered, one by one. His window would be the next, and then they would come…_

IIIII

"There's somebody at the door. It's a hobbit," added Rose and her friend was relieved. Who else could it be but Frodo's parents?

"We should offer them to stay here tonight," said Lily while making her way to the door. "They can have the second room, if you don't mind sleeping in the kitchen." Rose shook her head. "Of course I don't mind," she said. Lily opened the door, gasping as the cold rain hit her face.

"Come in," she shouted against the rain, surprised to find not his parents standing there, but Saradoc.

She waited for him to start complaining about the weather, but all he did was asking if he could stay for a cup of tea. The older hobbit followed Lily into the kitchen, where Rose was again washing the dishes. Lily started to prepare the tea, ginger tea, just in case that Frodo wanted some. She thought that it might be good to settle the poor child's stomach. She was glad they had still some water left from dinner. Surely she would have been soaked, had she been forced to go to the well to get some new water.

The kettle whistled impatiently, oblivious to the thunderstorm that kept raging outside. Rose disappeared in a veil of steam when she warmed the cups.

Lily handed Saradoc, who had been awfully silent, the tea. His hands were trembling. And as he lifted the cup to his mouth, he suddenly started crying. The cup fell to the floor, and there it shattered.

IIIII

_Scared, Frodo jumped out of his bed and rushed towards the door._

IIIII

"What's happened?" asked Lily, now feeling as if she was just about to die. She had never felt so cold in her life. Not even when she had broken into ice as an eight-year-old lass. Back then she had known that she would be warm again soon. Now warmth seemed to be a word with no meaning.

"What's happened?" she repeated more fiercely as she got no answer. Saradoc kept sobbing, and for the first time in many years Lily realized how young he really was.

Rose started to collect the small pieces. Lily filled another cup. Finally Saradoc started to speak.

"The poor boy," he mumbled, "The poor little boy."

It was then when Lily knew that something disastrous must have happened to his parents.

"Saradoc!" she exclaimed, causing Rose to drop the plate she had been holding in her hands. The plate, too, shattered and left dozens of white and blue splinters on the floor. "Frodo's parents," gasped Saradoc, "They've been found. They,"

The door to Frodo's room opened and a small pallid face appeared, followed by a long, white nightgown and large furry feet.

"Lily?" Frodo's voice sounded very exhausted and what was worse, it sounded very childlike. "Are they back?" he asked.

They. His parents. They would never come back, Lily knew it with a sudden, dreadful clarity.

She felt a rush of tears to her eyes. "Go," she was frightened by her own voice. "Go to your room!" she shouted "Now!"

Frodo's eyes widened a bit and he frowned and Lily immediately felt sorry for having shouted at him. He obeyed and closed the door saying " Good night, Lily," in his tired, young voice.

The door closed, the soft pattering noise of bare feet told them that Frodo was walking back to his bed.

Lily sighed and sank down on a chair, feeling completely spent. Rose sat down beside her and put an arm around her shoulders.

"They are dead," said a voice that did not sound like Lily's, but apparently it was for neither Rose nor Saradoc had moved their lips. Saradoc came around the table and pressed Lily's hands.

"Yes," he said, "Your cousin and her husband both drowned. There was nothing we could do for them."

His voice trembled "Their spirits had already departed when we found them".

"We?" asked Lily. " Asphodel and me," replied Saradoc. " I had warned them, but they would not listen. When a child found a paddle on the banks…we knew that something had happened, and we went to search them immediately. But we came to late. Why did they not listen when I told them that there would be a storm today?"

Lily heard a strange noise from Frodo's room. Rose and her friend exchanged an alarmed glance. Rose got up and opened the door.

"Is he…in there?" asked Saradoc and pointed in Rose's direction. That was a stupid question, thought Lily. They all had seen Frodo coming out of this room.

"He was," said Rose and fainted. She hit the wooden floor with a thud.

Lily jumped to her feet and while Saradoc hurried out to fetch some cold water to wake Rose, Lily tiptoed into Frodo's room. The bed was empty, and the blankets were sprawled all over the floor.

She checked in the wardrobe and under the bed, behind the curtains and under the desk, but Frodo was not there. A wave of cold rain poured in and made her aware of the fact that the window was wide open.

He had gone.

"He is gone!" she shouted and rushed out of his room. They had to find him before he found his parents.

Rose was better, but did not feel well enough to go with Lily, so she went on her own.

It was only a walk of twenty minutes. The unstable flicker of torches told her where she had to go.

tbc


	5. Chapter four Found

Chapter four – Found

There they were, Primula and Drogo Baggins, soaked with rain and blood and mud. Small pieces of wood were scattered all around them. The pieces were all that was left of the boat. There was something blue tied around Drogo's left leg, which looked like a part of Primula's dress. It was one of the dresses Lily had made for her. Primula's hand was still clutching Drogo's. His eyes, those amazingly blue, amazingly large eyes that were so much like his son's, were closed, never to open again. Yet Primula's were worse, still half-open, broken and destroyed. They had rolled backwards and all Lily could see was glittering white. Primula's face was white too, even in the soft orange torchlight. Her tongue was swollen and bluish and it seemed to be too big for her mouth. Lily wanted to touch her dearest cousin; she wanted to give her a last kiss, but she did not dare. Other hobbits were standing at the banks in groups of five to eight. Their voices were low and soft and Lily assumed that they were mourning.

When Lily came nearer, she noticed that they were not mourning at all. They were chattering about what had happened and of course all of them had always known it would take a bad end with these weird Bagginses. Lily also heard somebody say that it must have been Drogo, who had dragged Primula into the water and killed her there. Others said that Primula had poisoned her husband and didn't manage to steer the boat back on her own. Lily felt angry and very helpless. It was her cousin, her best friend they were talking about. A friend, she had always loved dearly. Lily swallowed, close to tears, and wanted to be a child again, wanted to cover her ears with her hands and shout at all these hobbits, who had once been Drogo's and Primula's friends to just stop it. But of course they didn't stop and Lily wondered what had turned the friendly neighbours and relatives into these terrible creatures. For terrible they were, terrible and horrifying.

Only few were really sad, or shocked, and one elderly lady stuttered "Somebody look after the child. Don't let him see it…somebody take that child home, please…"

"The child" was Frodo. Nobody seemed to realize it was him, though. When Lily finally found him, she dropped to her knees in front of him and tried to hug him, but he did not wish to be touched. "Excuse me," he said in the voice he always used when talking to grown – ups he had not seen before. His face was almost ashen, but determined. "Have you seen my parents?"

Lily was too shocked to answer. He did not recognize her and now went on to the next adult, asking him if he had seen Drogo and Primula. The adult was upset and as Frodo did not go away but kept asking he slapped him hard across the face.

Frodo gave a small shriek and fell face first into the cold mud.

Lily shot the man an angry glance and then she sat down swiftly at Frodo's side and tried to comfort him. His cheeks were no longer greyish but red and he was literally burning with fever. She lifted him up in an attempt to carry him away from the crowd and from his parents. He went completely limp in Lily's arms, head lolling helplessly, pale lips slightly parted. Lily felt as if she was carrying naught but some old clothes.

The tears she had tried to hold back now blurred her vision. The rain kept falling, and soon tears and raindrops merged to one stream that ran down her cheeks.

Only meters away were his parents, dead, drowned, covered in blood and mud and the poor child did not know. Lily hoped he had not had as much as a glimpse at their lifeless bodies.

She carried him on my arms, all the way back. Being fragile for a hobbit, Lily should have been incapable of even staggering up the first ten meters with the tall child in her arms, but she was in a shock and that made him seem as light as a dream.

Flash and thunder, again and again, and Frodo's face was nearly translucent by now, except for the burning red patches on his cheeks and brow.

They had almost reached Lily's hobbit hole when the lad opened his eyes. They were lacking colour and there was something to them, an emptiness, that frightened her.

"Shshsh," she made soothingly "It's me…it's Lily, don't be scared."

But Frodo still did not recognize her and started to fight against her with a strength she hadn't thought possible in such a fragile body. She did not let him go and he started yelling for help. When she put her hand over his mouth he bit her, leaving a tiny scar.

Gasping for breath and almost dizzy with pain, Lily dropped him. The grass was soft, but the young hobbit moaned as he hit the ground. He glanced at his mother's cousin, confusion spreading over his face, then looked at the thundering sky and then at Lily again. She felt guilty.

Before Lily could reach down to help him, he had jumped to his feet. He swayed back and forth, like a young tree cut almost all the way through, and then he raised his arms as if to claw down the sky upon him.

Flash and thunder at the same time.

An old weeping willow caught fire, and Frodo yelped as if it was him who had been hit.

Another flash, this time crashing into the river, leaving the water blue and sparkling for seconds.

The young hobbit stared at the blue water in horror.

"They are coming," he shrieked and began to run.

Lily tried to hold him back but, he was too fast and too slippery.

He disappeared in the high grass and only thunder and rain answered when Lily called Frodo's name.

Flash and thunder. Rain like spears.

IIIII

Four days after the tragic accident and after Frodo had been given up as dead he had been found, floating unconscious in the Brandywine River, guarded by three dolphins. They were small and dark and they kept him from drowning.

How he had got there and why they were trying to keep him at the surface nobody knew. Nobody wanted to know.

But there were rumours and the hobbits gossiped about the last time dolphins had been spotted in the river. It had been over a hundred years ago, only weeks before autumn had turned into a long cold winter that had left some hobbits dead and many weakened.

It hurt, but most of them were not happy to see Frodo return. They were scared.

Frodo had been rushed to the healer in a carriage, where his heart had stopped, started, stopped and started again. He had been lying in a deep sleep for another three days afterwards and neither the healer nor Ivy, who had come to help were sure whether he would wake up again.

During these last days of Frodo's childhood hypothermia changed into fever.

He was still unconscious when he was brought back to Lily's hobbit hole. His condition worsened and Lily started sleeping on the floor, beside his bed, to be there if he needed somebody to cling to.

Despite the high temperature that raged through his body, his face remained waxen and still, his eyes stayed closed and his dark lashes looked very long against his pallid skin.

The days passed by and they could do nothing but wait and Lily's heart ached.

Time shifted like sand and yet days seemed to last years.

On the evening of the third day Lily was wrapping cold damp cloths around Frodo's skinny legs, when he suddenly sighed. His eyebrows started to knit as if he was thinking of something.

"These are…awfully…wet things," he breathed. Lily could not help it; she started to sob and reached out for him to hold him tightly. He went perfectly still again.

Ivy must have heard Lily, for she rushed in, making a questioning, scared face. She looked down at the silent boy, and then looked at Lily and at the tears, which were running down her cheeks.

"Is…is he..?…oh please no..," Ivy could hardly speak for she thought that the worst had happened. She was sure that the child had finally succumbed to the high fever. She lowered her gaze.

Frodo stirred.

"Yes," thought Lily "Rise up from the depths of your long sleep. Return to us. Return to us, please."

Frodo drew another deep breath and his eyes cracked open. "Are my parents back yet?" he asked, his voice slurry from sleep.

Ivy sat down abruptly and Lily's heart skipped a beat.

She told him they would not come back, still holding his way too warm hands.

Carefully, hesitatingly she began to speak, not being sure if he was aware of what she was saying or if the high fever kept him from understanding her words.

Lily tried to stay calm when she told him that his parents were already buried. She told him they didn't suffer. That was a lie, but Lily did not want him to know the truth yet. He seemed to be too sick to cope with it. Frodo did not cry. He stared blankly at the ceiling, his small hands clutching Lily's.

Soon he fell asleep again, and Ivy caressed his clammy brow, stroking back some wayward dark curls.

"He did not understand," she said, "You will have to tell him again."

The last sunlight fell through billowing curtains.

Summer' s last birds were singing their goodbyes before preparing for their long flight.

Autumn came over night and morning found dozens of them frozen; and their round black eyes were still half open and stared at the sky with a silent plea for warmth.

TBC


	6. Chapter five The dolphins' lament

Chapter five – the dolphins' lament

Dedicated to Tommy, who loved dolphins.

Disclaimer : This poem was inspired by Tolkiens "cottage of lost  
play"

**The dolphins' lament**

We knew a tale once,

All of us,

A long and tearful tale.

Drowned now is most of it,

But still, we try to tell.

Each night we gather here to sing

With voices clear and soft as spring,

Of a place not known by men,

A place we cannot find again

Between the whispering waves.

A place it was of joy and sun

Of moon and stars and rain.

The lagoon echoed with our mirth

The waves sang our names.

Love was there and light and sleep

But also shadows buried deep

Never to reach the sun.

And then one day a pale moon rose

And our happy singings froze.

It was the time of fear and change

And we could smell it in the air.

A time of shadow buried deep

Awaking from eternal sleep.

They came swift and they came fast

They had lights; their teeth were sharp.

They were many, hungry, starving…

… We do not have words for those creatures of dark…

Lost we felt and all alone

But midst all despair a light then shone

And we saw Ulmo; he bore no crown

And yet all that dwells within the sea

Has to listen to his plea

Mighty Ulmo doesn't harm

The ones, who are his sons.

He lifts his arm

Dark shadows turn

Into a flock of swans.

Then waves were rising and they bore

Us to a long forgotten shore

To sunrise made of silver glass

To lands of tall trees but, alas,

We're bound to stay within the blue

Where we were born and where we grew.

We cannot walk as humans do,

Our world is the world of blue.

Now fall is calling us away

From shore, and sea and wave

Is leading us into a grave

But where it is

We cannot say

Tbc


	7. Chapter six Amroth

**Chapter six - Amroth**

Dark dolphins were dancing through the even darker blue waters of the ocean.

They moved like shadows, swift and silent, and a smile was lingering on their faces.

Yet they were not happy. The time of Departure had come once more.

Three of them left the herd and the friendly laughter and singing faded behind them. Soon it was no more than a soft whisper and then it was gone. They could still feel their relatives; their presencewas like a prickling all over their skin. But as they swam further and further away this last form of communication grew weaker and before long they were alone.

One of the dolphins was taller and stronger than the others and many shells had settled down on his forehead. For he was old beyond imagination and occasionally so very silent that one could think he was no more than a rock of peculiar shape and colour.

IIIII

Amroth was his name, and before fate made him become a dolphin he had been an elven-king.

This was the secret of the dark dolphins, as the free peoples of Middle-earth called them.

The oldest among them had been elves once. And their language was that of the elves and all one had to do was to listen very carefully to their singing. But nobody did, nobody listened and so the tale of the dolphins was forgotten.

As ages passed even the dolphin-elves could not remember any more what had happened to them. Except for a few. Those were the ones that were send out to warn the free peoples when horrible things were about to happen. Battles, long winters, diseases. They swam up the rivers and called their warnings, but no one understood them for no onespoketheir language anymore.

People saw them and they saw the evil that followed.

This was how the dolphins in the rivers became a sign for bad luck.

IIIII

Amroth had been in love with a beautiful maiden, Nimrodel, who dwelled in Lothlórien until one day she got lost in the cruel mountains. The ship that was supposed to carry her home to the western shores awaited her, but she did not find the way and as a storm roseand drove the ship across the tide, she was not among those who loved her.

Amroth cursed the wind and the ship and then he leaped, strong as an arrow, and he was never seen again.

Days and nights he spend floating on the water until he discovered that the salt was not burning in his eyes anymore, that he could dive deep into the blue without drowning. His legs vanished and his body darkened and was soon that of a fish. Yet he was no fish. He had to come to the surface of the water to take breaths and his children were born like those of elves and humans.

As the ages passed he became the leader of many dolphins

Yet now his days with his beloved ones were over. He had to leave and he knew it.

His youngest daughter and his nephew were swimming with him.

IIIII

It took them a full moon to reach the estuary of the Baranduin, for the world and the sea were changing and many of the paths in the ocean were now hidden and hard to find.

After a week of travelling in the river the dolphins discovered that they had failed. Where once lived a folk close to the riverbanks were now forests, inhabited only by animals.

Their singing had been in vain. Still, they had more than half of the way ahead of them and there was still hope. There was always hope. They might still meet someone who spoke the old language and who would listen. Then and only then they were allowed to return to the sea and live happily ever after with their friends and families. Or at least until they had to set off for a new journey.

Deep in his old heart, Amroth sighed. Once they reached the lake they would lose their sense of orientation and they would drown or get stranded. Amroth did not grief for the end of his own live, for he had lived longer than any other dolphin. But he was afraid and full of sorrow, for his beautiful nephew and his intelligent daughter were still young.

He felt a soft touch on his left side and smiled, seeing his nephew's dark eyes

Fall and winter were now very close and they had to hurry. There was no use in thinking dark thoughts. Time was swimming away and they had to follow.

IIIII

This very night they got caught in a thunderstorm, but luckily they remained spared, although they could feel how lightening struck the river several times. As they got closer to the place where the storm had been worst, they saw dead fishes floating in the river, with their bellies up and their mouths open. It was still raining, but now the rain was warm and soft, caressing their cool skin whenever they came to the surface to breathe.

The dead and the dying fishes made them weep, but they felt also some form of relief when they discovered small houses, built into the hills, along the riverside. It was well past midnight now and the dolphins could not see any living being, save for cattle and - once – some horses.

Nevertheless they started to sing louder than before and their lament was answered in a way they had not imagined.

The dolphins could hear a cry (_help)_, a splash and then they felt that something was moving in the river, far ahead of them. The movements weakened and when Amroth and his companionsreached the one who had caused the waves, he was utterly silent.

He had the face of a sleeping, elvishchild, but his body seemed to be that of a very young human. The child was clad in something, that might have been a nightgown once, but now it was torn and partly bloody and not more than rags.

The child was clutching a branch with his small fingers and Amroth knew that it was only a matter of seconds until the child would let go and sink.

The dolphins came as close as they dared, scanning each part of the limp body. They could see his heart beat, they could feel his weakened state and more than that a sorrow deeper than the Dark Depths of the ocean.

Except for Amroth, they had not seen human – or partly human – children before. They were curious, and although Amroth told them to be careful they tried to get closer to the child. When they felt his sorrow, they wanted him to wake up and smile, and so they jumped high into the grey, wet air. But their acrobaticswere lost on the little one. He moaned quietly and his dark head vanished beyond the waves.

Amroth dived and caught him before he could hit the muddy ground. Gently, he brought him to the surface and made him breathe. The child's eyes snapped open and he glared at the moon in the astonishment of one, who wakes up to realize that he is still dreaming. He then turned his head to one side, to see a smiling dark grey face.

Amroth's nephew and daughter liked the child's face best when he was awake, for his eyes had the colour of the warm, shallow waters where they had been bornmany years ago.

"All is dark," they sang to him, and they wished to bring comfort to his dark, cold world, "but it is not all night." The child smiled. He understood.

He spent the night drifting in and out of consciousness, never knowing whether he was dreaming or awake. There were long (and always lengthening) periods, when he would not react to anything.

Then the dolphins would discuss silently, using a way to communicate which was very close to telepathy. They were helpless. Now they had finally found someone, who was able to understand at least parts of their language. But they could not tell him. He was dying and they did not want to trouble his already troubled heart.

Before he woke up again they decided to take him with them until they found somebody who would rescue him. Or until he died. They would not leave him alone.

_Iorhael_ they called him and he shook his head and said _Frodo_, but the dolphins could not pronounce his name, so Iorhael the child remained.

IIIII

All the waythey were singing for him withpleasing voices. They did not sing laments and warnings anymore. Theyhummed stories and poems of their own childhood and they were delighted when the child tried to hum along with them.

IIIII

The hours passed and day changed to night yet again. The dolphins grew concerned, for the child had not spoken or opened his eyes for a long time now. He was getting awfully cold and although the dolphins formed a circle around him, they could do nothing to keep him warm, for their ownskin was too cool.

The child's lips turned from a light blue to a sickish white.

Amroth told his friends to hasten, and they speeded through the water,their cries now similar to those of a wounded child.

And this time, they were heard.

The silence of the forest was broken, dim lights announced the coming of men.

And before the dolphins could see the torches, they could hear voices, similar to the voice of the one they were protecting

Amroth gave a sharp whistle and his daughter and his nephew stopped, balancing the child on their long beak-like noses. There they waited until they could hear the sound of distant footsteps growing louder. And finally the low branches lifted and a group of small people appeared.

Even Amroth had never seen anything like them.

They were small, but pretty; they had curly hair and furry feet.

Three were males; one was female. Two of the men were carrying torches. The biggest man – who was still small compared to all other men Amroth had ever seen - seemed rather irritable and tired. The female held a couple of woollen blankets. All of them were shouting and pointing at the dolphins and at the child. Amroth was relieved.

Those small men and the woman would be able to give Iorhael the warmth and care he needed so badly. Slowly, and always holding Iorhael's head up, the dolphins approached the shore.

The grumpy man bent forwards and took hold of the little one's wrists. He tried to pull him out, but almost fell into the water himself. With a silent curse he dropped the child. Iorhael sank back into the water. He was so thin that he caused no noise. The woman gave the grumpy man a cross look, thrust the blanket into his arms, threw herself down on her belly and stretched out her arms. They were too short. She could not reach the child, who was now sinking again. Amroth caught him once more. With his head under Iorhael's back he came as close to the riverbank as it was possible. He caught a glimpse of a smile on the woman's face.

She was still lying flat on the ground and now she grabbed the child'sshoulders. With a strength that was seemingly impossible in such a small body she pulled him towards herself, not caring about the fact that she was getting soaked now as well.

With a sad smile she touched the child's face. Then she laid him down,supporting his head. Iorhaels eyes were still closed tightly, and he did not react to the woman's soft voice and touch.

Amroth's daughter and nephew wanted to leave then, they had done what they could and the way was still far. But Amroth called them back and told them to watch and to wait.

The lady wrapped Iorhael in her blankets.

She half lifted him up and pressed his dark head against her chest. She was crying now, stuttering unconnected syllables without any meaning. One of the males, who had been holding a torch, knelt down beside her and took the little one out of her arms. Iorhael, feeling a change in who was holding him, twitched uneasily. The grumpy one shouted something, threw a lastanxious glance at the now silent dolphins and then everybody left. The one, who was carrying the child, was the last one to disappear between the dark trees.

Tears were dwelling in the dolphins' eyes as they sang their farewells. Iorhael did not answer for he was now floating further and further away in some yet unknown dream without light. He was still sinking, and this time nobody would catch him.

Amroth and the other two dolphinsdived and were gone, never to return, never to see the ocean again.

The hidden paths would lead them to a lake known as Nenuial or Evendim. There they would die and the cold longwinter would come soon.

_TBC_


	8. Chapter seven Falling

**Chapter seven - Falling **

His mother left and the young hobbit curled into a shuddering little ball and fell asleep. And again, he dreamed.

And even as the images of the dream began to break and went dark he knew that it was much more than just that, much more than just a dream. For minutes he rested in his bed, staring at the ceiling as if paralysed, and the ceiling started to spin and evil, cold laughter filled his ears. Then it was gone and for a while there was a merciful nothingness.

IIIII

When he woke it was just before dawn and soft twilight and the sweet scent of tea filled the room.

"Good morning Frodo," whispered a familiar voice and the young hobbit yawned and fluttering lashes revealed a pair of still half-sleeping deep blue eyes. His father was sitting at his side, offering him a tray with tea, biscuits and strawberries.

Frodo had a pretty good idea about what his mother would say to strawberries and biscuits for breakfast.

"Where's mum?" the boy asked and yawned.

"Still asleep," his father grinned, "She's always been quite a sleepyhead. I will take you to Lily and then your mother and I will go boating later. We might even go at night." Frodo fell silent and forgot to chew his biscuit.

"At night," he finally repeated, "Are you sure? It's…it is just…"

_'Tell them not to go,' __whispered his thoughts '__you know what's going to happen.'_

_'Nonsense,' __whispered another thought__ 'I dreamed, that's all.'_

_'Ah? But what if it was not a dream? Do you want to be the one responsible for your parent's death?'_

_-'They will not die. Not yet. Mother promised not to die and I won't let her…'_

_'Then you should tell them.'_

_-'I won't'._

"Just what?" Drogo tried to help.

"Nothing." To avoid looking into his father's eyes Frodo took off his nightgown and reached out for his shirt.

_'I'm loosing my mind,' __he_thought '_Talking to myself and all that'._

"It's what Saradoc said yesterday," said Frodo, "he said it's suicide." The boy tried his best to look as grumpy as his uncle. "And he also said that there will be thunderstorms today."

"A thunderstorm?" Drogo was laughing now. "Well, Frodo, you are a weird child. It is a mild day, a very mild day indeed. There won't be any storms today."

He got up from his son's bed and opened the window.

Immediately the room filled with a soft light and the scent of summer. Birds were singing joyfully and rather loudly (and they were probably waking up old grouchy Saradoc). A soft breeze ruffled through Drogo's dark curls.

"See?" he asked.

The child frowned. It _was _a mild day. But wasn't it too mild? After all, summer was almost over and it was very early in the morning.

Drogo sat down. "You do not mind staying in Lily's hobbit hole overnight, do you?" Frodo shook his head.

"However," his father continued, "We'll try to be back in the evening. If we are delayed you don't need to worry. If it gets too late to bring you home, I will be there the next morning." The child did not answer.

"And we might not go at all," Drogo added. "Primula is _really _tired"

"Oh," Frodo fought with his shirt's buttons, "Is she?"

_'Of course she is,' _he thought, while his father tried to help him. '_She spent half the night trying to comfort you. You know that. It's your fault when she's too tired to go boating today.'_

"Frodo?" Drogo's hands were resting on the boy's shoulders. "Are you alright?"

The young hobbit suppressed a sigh.

"Yes," he said, "But I'm a little bit tired too. I'm not used to getting up so early…"

"Are you not?" his father joked. "So…whom did I catch hours before sunset, sneaking apples from the kitchen? Must have been your twin."

The child giggled and helped himself to another biscuit.

"Get dressed," his father said, " I will be waiting for you outdoors, beside the cherry tree."

Still smiling broadly, Frodo nodded. But as soon as the door was closed the smile faded away and he felt like crying. He did not even know why.

IIIII

Without causing a noise, Frodo slipped out of his room. He closed his door firmly and then he tiptoed to his mother's bedroom. The door was shut. Frodo knew that his mother needed her rest and he did not want wake her. Nevertheless he wished he could see her (_one last time)_, to kiss her good bye before going to Lily.

A splashing sound made him turn around quickly. There was water emerging from under his door and he could hear footsteps coming closer, and closer. They had a _wet_ quality, like somebody walking through water, or pools of blood. He thought he could feel a cold breath close to his neck. Terrified, he closed his eyes.

_'You are still dreaming,' _He told himself. '_Just dreaming.' _

He forced himself to open his eyes again. There was no water. Only a small amount of sunlight was soaking through the door and it made the floor look as if it was covered with water. And of course, there were footsteps. Brandy Hall was slowly waking up, although the corridors were still very quite and very dark.

On his way out he met a few children, who were on their way to the kitchen, followed by Saradoc who told them that they would soon burst because of eating too much. Saradoc did not seem to realize Frodo, and the boy was glad about this. He did not feel like another hour of listening to Saradoc telling him, how spoiled and (the mere thought made him blush) _childish _he was.

He also met a couple of older cousins. They were preparing a huge breakfast for their friends.

There were three girls walking by. When they saw him, one of them pointed at him and then made a gesture as if she was about to faint. The other two girls giggled madly.

Frodo's ears were now as red as the strawberries his father had given him.

He hurried to get out of the hall.

_'Girls,' _he thought and pushed hard against the big door to open it.

His father was waiting under the old cherry tree, as he had promised. He had a backpack with some spare clothes for his son.

It was a lovely day and Frodo soon forgot his dreams and fears.

After all, he was only a child, his father was in his best mood and he would spend the whole day with one of his favourite relatives.

The old forest to their left side provided some shadow. The grass was high; it almost reached Frodo's shoulders. They saw a couple of huge mushrooms, and Frodo tried to keep in mind where they had found them. Later he would go and get some of them for Lily.

The river kept chattering, babbling and giggling like a flock of girls.

Drogo promised to go fishing with his son if the weather remained like this.

Frodo took his father's hand and beamed at him. Primula had been right.

The young lad thought about telling his father that he would prefer to go watching the fishes instead of catching them, but then he decided to tell him about that the next day. That would still be early enough.

It was still early in the morning when they reached Lily's home.

IIIII

Frodo and his father stepped into the kitchen. The kitchen was leading directly to the garden and to one of the bedrooms. Frodo was silently in love with Lily's kitchen. It was warmer and much cosier than the kitchen in Brandy Hall. As a matter of fact, Lily seemed to be in her kitchen most of the day. But right now, she was not there.

A young lady Frodo had not seen before was standing close to a counter, preparing dough. As she turned around, they could see that she was most likely one of Lily's cousins.

"Hello dear," she said and bent over to ruffle Frodo's curls. To make matters worse she pinched his cheeks until they were of a flaming red. Frodo was reminded of the girls in Brandy Hall, but he was too polite to say anything.

"My, but you are cute!" the lady exclaimed and pinched his cheeks yet again. _Chubby, _she sighed and Frodo was not sure whether to be amused or frustrated.

Usually people kept complaining about him being too tall and too skinny. Lily's relative was the first one to call him _chubby. _He did not like the word though and when the lady wanted to know his name he had to swallow several times before he was able to answer.

"I'm Frodo," he said and stepped closer to his father, "Son of Drogo Baggins".

In the end Lily came in from her garden. Frodo ran towards her and hugged her. He was glad to see her again. There were so many things he wanted to tell her, and he only stopped when he realized that he was babbling like a girl. Lily smiled and led him to his room.

His father followed. While they were unpacking his clothes they could hear how the lady (now they knew she was Cousin Rose from Bree) and Lily had a discussion about something.

They could hear a shrill '_Help!_' followed by a giggle. Not paying attention to the laughing hobbits, Frodo rushed out of the room to rescue his cousin.

The four of them had a second breakfast.

Drogo left around midday, and Frodo went outside to play (and to get himself into trouble) a little bit later. Lily was calling something, but he could not understand her.

He turned around to wave at her again, and then he went on, whistling happily and enjoying the day.

IIIII

He followed the winding path until he found the mushrooms.

Frodo's pockets were already full of huge, juicy mushrooms, when he saw an especially good one. That one would be for Lily, or maybe for her friend Rose.

Humming contently, he stretched out a hand, and froze in the middle of the movement.

A huge shadow fell over him. He drew in a sharp breath and wanted to look up, but the shadow was faster. It grabbed a lock of Frodo's hair and pulled him to his feet.

"What's that in your pockets?" thundered a deep voice.

Before the lad was able to answer the dark voice added

"Don't you know who I am?" The young hobbit refused to speak.

"You don't," the voice sounded dangerously sweet. "I'll tell you. Come with me!"

Frodo tried to fight, but the man was too strong. He pulled Frodo with him and thrust him against a tree. The young hobbit gasped as his brow hit the hard wood.

"Hug it," the voice said. The boy made an attempt to turn around but the person grabbed his neck and pressed him against the tree. "Do what I say and we might be finished soon."

Who was that?

It was a male hobbit, but who was it?

He did not recognize the voice and he had not seen the man's face yet.

Shivering he threw his arms around the stem.

What was going to happen?

"You're one of those nasty tweens aren't you?"

He did not answer, although he was not yet a tween, but screamed when rough hands pulled down his trousers.

When the same hands grabbed his shirt and flung it over his head, he started to struggle. He could not see anything. The light was falling through his shirt and he could see green shapes and dancing shadows, but that was all. After a few minutes he gave up fighting. He pressed himself against the tree and waited for things to happen. He could hear how the man was searching for something.

"Mushrooms," said the man. "My mushrooms in your pockets. Tell me, do you know what happens to tweens who steal my mushrooms? "

The lad shuddered.

He did.

He knew.

This had to be farmer Maggot. The tweenaged hobbits had been telling him about farmer Maggot and his mushrooms - and his belt.

"I think you do," Maggot was really angry now. In fact, he was furious. Frodo's fingers cramped into the tree.

_'Do it_,' he thought miserably. '_Do it and let us be done with it.' _

A cracking noise and burning pain brought an end to all of his thoughts. A bird, disturbed by the cracking sound flew up into the bright sky. A white feather fell to the ground right beside one of Frodo's furry feet. Repeatedly the belt cut through the air and then through the boy's skin and it left crimson lines. The wounds opened soon and which soon and small, dark drops fell onto the white feather, and very slowly it was soaked and turned red.

Suddenly, everything froze. The last droplets of blood fell to the floor and vanished between the grass and old leafs. The farmer's arm was still up in the air but the next stroke never fell.

Maggot glanced at Frodo's back with disgust.

The belt fell to the ground, crumpling like a snail.

"That should be enough."

Was his voice trembling?

"Pull up your trousers".

The boy did as he was told to do.

"Look at me," the farmer said.

Trying not to look too frightened Frodo obeyed, turning towards the farmer and lifting his head.

The man grabbed for Frodo's shirt and pulled it down carefully. Frodo closed his eyes, blinded by the sunlight. His legs felt as if they were burning. Sitting down would be painful for the next few days. Fat black flies were crawling around his neck already, trying to find a way into his shirt, to the source of the blood. Frodo was silently thankful that he was wearing a green shirt, not one of the usual white ones. With a bit of luck nobody would see the stains.

"Open your eyes," the farmer commanded.

"Well," he said and his voice changed. "Y'are either a Baggins or a Brandybuck. And y'are much younger than I thought. I don't beat children. I never do. I'm sorry. And I always stop as soon as those rascals scream. Why didn't you scream? "

He reached out for Frodo's face, but the boy stumbled backwards, tripped over a stone and fell. He moaned and closed his eyes again. Farmer Maggot knelt down. "Won't you tell me your name?" he asked.

The boy moaned again. "Frodo," he whispered and winced. "Baggins."

Frodo tried to get back to his feet. He did not want this horrible farmer to see him in pain.

"You know what," the farmer said. "I will not tell your parents you've been stealing my mushrooms – and you won't say a word about those welts of yours."

Frodo nodded sleepily. His head was spinning, he felt dizzy and to him, Maggot's words were a blur. Just to be save he nodded again and mumbled a weak "Yes".

"Good," said Maggot. "Next time I catch you I won't beat you as hard as I'm supposed to." The boy nodded again. He was very pale now.

"Off you go then," Maggot's voice was firm again, "before I change my mind".

Frodo yelped in horror and vanished between the trees.

IIIII

Maggot watched as the child ran away. A strong feeling of guilt rose in his throat and he could not spit it out. Had he been too harsh with that boy? He sighed. He was not a bad man, but his mushrooms were _his_ mushrooms and not those of all the mischief –causing Bagginses and Brandybucks of the Shire. Perhaps the young Baggins was healed from stealing mushrooms for the rest of his life now.

But his eyes – ah, his eyes.

There was something to them even Maggot could see. But what was it?

The farmer shook his head. He was going insane, that was it; marvelling about a child's eyes. He spat out again. The day was still long, and there were still many things to do.

He closed his belt and left.

IIIII

Frodo, in the meantime, had been running in the direction of the river. There he sat down, desperately but in vain trying to regain control over his tearless sobs. He swayed when he got to his feet and limped closer to the water. Most of the wounds had already closed, but each single motion caused new blood to flow. Gently he took off the shirt, biting on his lips when the fabric got in contact with the wounds.

He tried to wash his shirt, but without much success.

Thinking hard of another solution to conceal the marks he put the wet shirt back on.

The cold water was soothing on his burning skin.

Frodo lay down flat on his stomach and tried to sleep.

Although he had thought it to be impossible he was very soon enveloped by comforting warmth, which only sleep could offer.

He did not dream, but at some point he got up and started to walk, his eyes still closed, his mind absent.

When he woke up he was still close to the river, but he did not know the place. He had not been there before. Everything had changed. The sky was grey now, for a huge cloud veiled the sun.

"Where am I?" Frodo asked the cloud. But of course there was no answer, except for a distant grumble. The wind became harsh and chilly, bringing the first tiny drops of rain.

"And what's the time?" he added.

He listened to the whining of the wind while he watched how the midges danced over the river's surface.

"I hope you were too tired today," he said aloud. "This weather is awful. I hope you did not go boating."

There was a call.

His mother was calling.

Forgetting the wounds, Frodo jumped up and listened carefully.

Nothing. He could hear nothing. Yet there had been a scream.

_'Don't be stupid,' _he told himself. '_It was a bird.' _

He looked up to the fast darkening sky and had to admit that he was lost.

The rain was stronger now and Frodo started to run. It took him hours until he found his way, and when he finally reached Lily's home he was feverish, confused and tired.

IIIII

Later he did not recall much of the following night.

Rose and Lily had tried to make him eat, but he had been too sick to keep anything down.

And Lily had seen the welts.

Something had shattered in the kitchen, and a thunderstorm had been raging. So Saradoc had been right.

Frodo managed to climb out of his bed and peered through the window. He could see his own reflection, eyes wide and bland, pale skin, quivering lips. Something - a shining spectrum - was there, just behind his reflection. And the _something _drew nearer with each flash. For a while he stood there watching the shining waiting for him. Finally he could not bear it any longer. He left the small bedroom and stumbled into the kitchen.

He did not understand why Saradoc was there and why he was weeping.

Neither did it make sense to him that Lily did not want him in her kitchen. Frodo went back into his room and caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror which was hanging on the back of the door, a mirror with a red wooden rim.

Was it possible to see that he was a thief now? Was this why Lily did not want to have him near anymore?

The window opened. The reflection in the mirror was suddenly split by a jagged, silvery crack. The mirror fell on the floor and shattered at his feet, leaving only the wooden ring to stare back at him like a blind, red eye.

IIIII

The next thing he saw was a tree. He felt cold and tired and was wearing a torn nightgown. He was searching for his parents as nobody else seemed to know where they were.

He climbed a tree to have a better look around, but due to his weakened state he lost his balance. There was a crack and a muffled scream, followed by a loud splash as Frodo and a branch fell into the river.

The young lad tried hard to get back to the banks, but he failed.

Quietly he began to weep. He wept because he was frightened. He wept because something was wrong with his parents (and it was his fault). He wept because he was lonely and because farmer Maggot did not like him. He wept because now there would be nobody to help Lily in the gardens. And he also wept because he did not know what dying was like.

Soon his movements lessened and became weaker. The river was strong and cold and deep and it did not care if there was a child crying for help. Waves collapsed over Frodo's head, and he felt that some of his wounds were bleeding again. Still sobbing he rested his head against the branch. He did not know what to do. Although he had spent most of his life close to the Brandywine he had never learned how to swim. He sighed heavily. This had been why his parents went boating on their own. To think of his parents was like a stab into his heart. Where were they? What had happened to them? Why were they not here to help him?

The latter was a selfish thought and he knew it. Yet he could not keep himself from thinking it over and over again. His parents would be there to rescue him, if they were alright.

A sudden pain ripped through Frodo's body, his back arched and the branch almost slipped out of his fingers. Whimpering miserably he swooned almost at once.

IIIII

Without noticing the approaching dolphins, Frodo let go of the branch and sank towards the ground. But he never touched it.

The water hissed and surged over him. He was brought back to the surface.

Around him the young hobbit could see slim shapes under a full moon. The shapes seemed to be those of huge fishes.

'_Just my luck,'_ was Frodo's first confused thought, '_if I don't drown I'll get eaten'. _

But those were no fishes and they never meant to harm him.

He forgot most of his journey, yet days later, when the fever had ceased he would compare their songs to the music he used to hear in some nights. It had not been exactly the same, but close enough.

Later he recalled that there had always been at least one of them, who was close to him, encouraging him to breathe, to swim, to stay alive.

Iorhael they had called him, for their language was that of the elves. While he was with them he could understand them, he was able to sing with them and he promised that he would tell everyone about them, because he loved them and he did not want them to suffer.

But he was a child, only a child and children may have seeing hearts, but they lose everything.

IIIII

When he was older he would remember the hours with the dolphins, but then it would be too late and nobody would believe in his story. Nobody except for the gardener's young son who was fond of Frodo and who would have believed anything at that age, just to see Frodo smile.

The hobbit was tired and exhausted. The cold had crept through his skin and into his bones like a pale ghost. Frodo recalled a story in an old book - and a picture he had seen there. Until now it had been one of his favourite stories, but the picture had always sent shivers down his spine. It was the picture of "winter". Winter was a huge man and his blue hands were holding fallen leaves and faded roses. His beard was long and white and so was his hair.

Yes, winter with icicles in his beard and snowflakes in his lashes had reached out for Frodo with his bluish hands and he would never let go.

With his teeth chattering and his breath coming in high-pitched gasps he tried to escape and struggled to swim but his arms and legs would not react. Once more he began to weep inaudibly until he swooned.

IIIII

He woke up in the middle of the night. He thought he had heard voices – hobbit voices – but then he believed that it must have been the wind in the trees or a late bird. He still felt too cold, but soon the cold lessened and was replaced by numbness. Frodo choked and panted, for the new feeling scared him. The female dolphin, who was supporting his head, uttered a small sigh.

When she felt him stiffen she let him be carried by Amroth and came to his side. She watched him carefully .The child glared at her, eyes dull and hopeless, hands white and limp.

He was not shivering anymore. His body was already failing him.

There was nothing they could do for the child they called _Iorhael_. They could only hope for somebody to hear them and to rescue the little one. Otherwise they would stay close to him to ease his passing.

_Iorhael _looked at her questioningly.

"Rest," said her brown warm eyes, "Rest, we will not let you drown"

He closed his eyes again and he thought that it would be for ever. Yet he was not frightened anymore; he let the dark waters have him and silently he slipped away; his pain was forgotten and no longer did he fear the tall man with the cold hands.

IIIII

It was not much later that he was found.

He was lifted up and carried away and he felt nothing. He could hear nothing either, not Lily's desperate sobs and neither the dolphin's farewells.

But he could see them, even with his eyes closed.

They were preparing to leave and very slowly they dived. Their smiling faces went first, followed by their slim, dark bodies.

Their flukes seemed to stand on the surface of the river for another moment. Then slowly, they too slid beneath the surface.

A huge and scary emptiness was left behind and Frodo descended into a dreamy dawn, where nobody could reach him, or harm him.

He did not feel the branches brushing over his face as he was carried through the forest and neither did he wake up when Saradoc almost dropped him.

IIIII

….Voices….

Far away, whispering.

Not important.

He wanted them to go away.

'Leave me,'

He did not say; or perhaps he did.

Pain, searing, piercing, excruciating, throbbing behind his temples …the voices had brought it and all he wished was for the voices and the pain to leave. He longed to be alone again, in that sweet darkness, which eased the pain and wiped away the noises.

He breathed desperately and the rustling sound in his chest scared him.

'Please just leave me!' he was screaming now, or thought he was.

Voices, now louder, too loud, ringing in his ears and in his head.

Still he could not understand them properly.

But it did not matter.

Nothing mattered anymore.

Again, he fell, through shadows and time and when his poor, wounded soul finally came to rest he could feel soft sand under his hands.

White gulls were calling (_exactly like in one of the dolphin's songs_ he thought) and warm sunshine caressed his cheeks.

But he was not allowed to stay. Not yet.

Frodo's body had gone very cold and limp and the healer could not find a pulse any longer.

With his eyes full of tears and sorrow he looked at Lily, who was holding one of the boy's hands.

"Gone," he said.

In respond Lily shook her head. "Don't you dare," she hissed and she was not quite sure whether she was talking to the healer or to Frodo, the child with her sister's lips and hands. The last one left of Drogo Baggins' small family.

The healer, however, thought it was him she was hissing at.

"I'll do what I can," he cast her a stern yet fleeting look. "But I might not succeed"

Against his will Frodo was brought back and his heart cramped and did one painful, slow beat. And another. And another…

The voices were there again, and now he could hear what they were talking about; at least parts of it.

"… Did I brake his rips…?"

"…. My poor lad…."

The child's eyes snapped open and for a brief moment he caught the sight of concerned faces and then he coughed until he did not bring up water anymore but blood.

There was a cool, soothing hand on his brow and somebody hummed what sounded like a lullaby.

Was he not too old for lullabies?

"… developing fever…," said another voice "…probably… not survive….night…if…."

If what?

He did not care anymore.

IIIII

The next morning came silently.

Frodo was still alive but unconscious.

And outside the sky was of a pale blue.

Innocent.

Or perhaps just blind

Tbc


	9. Chapter eight Primula and Drogo

**Primula and Drogo – Chapter Eight**

Primula was still asleep when Drogo came back.

She had snuggleddeep into her pillows, and all Drogo could see of her were some reddish curls. She was far away, too fast asleep to dream, yet ("Primula") a soft whisper caught her attention. She yawned and stretched under her sheets and then she woke up.

Her brown eyes needed a while to focus on the hobbit, who was sitting beside her. She smiled broadly when she finally realized that it was Drogo.

"You're back already," her voice was still slurred from sleep. " Is our son alright?"

He nodded.

" Yes. He was glad to see Lily again." He thought for a second and smiled " Very glad indeed. I don't think he would mind staying there over night"

Primula sat up, and rubbed at her eyes. "Would he not? That's good. I miss him already, though."

That was not all. She was worried.

Frodo had behaved strangely the last night. " He'll be fine," Drogo said, "He is old enough to spend a night somewhere elseand if you are not too tired after our trip we'll be able to take him home with us. Otherwise I'll go and get him tomorrow"

"I know he is old enough…" helplessly she looked at Drogo, using her fingers to comb her hair, " But…I don't know…last night I felt like he did not want us to go…the poor child …he was confused and scared…did not make any sense at all…but I am sure he wanted us to stay…" her hands sank into the blankets, " Don't get me wrong, love, I do want to go boating with you …but I have never seen Frodo in such a state before…"

" Then let's go soon. So we'll be back well in timeto kiss him goodnight."

She sighed thankfully and changed the subject.

" Did you give him something for breakfast?" she asked. She could see a sparkle of amusement in Drogo's bright blue eyes. "Of course I did"

Suddenly, he seemed to be very interested in the small spots on the wall.

" Some _reasonable _breakfast?" asked Primula.

Drogo touched one of the spots. "We should paint the wall soon. Those spots don't look nice. What do you think of…er…green, love?"

" Did you give him _biscuits _for breakfast_?"_

"…Or maybe blue…? Bilbo said blue was …"

" Drogo Baggins! The lad needs a _healthy_breakfast. He's still got to grow."

Drogo frowned " Healthy things? Well, biscuits _are_ truly healthy … and actually, I think Frodo is tall enough already."

Both of them started laughing. Primula shook her head in faked dismay, and yawned.

" Are you still tired?" Drogo asked, caressing her freckled cheeks.

"No," she hugged himand pulled him towards her, into the bed. " Not tired at all."

IIIII

Saradoc hadbeen working in the gardens since the early morning, and now he was looking forward to have lunch. He was on his way to the big kitchen.

There were several small ones, too. But Saradoc did never eat there when he could avoid it. There were too many noisy tweens crowding the smaller kitchens. He was looking for somebody he could shout at. Nobody had crossed his way so far and he was about to forget it, when he could hear a suppressed giggle, followed by a funny noise, like something falling to the floor, and then much more giggling.

He realized that he had taken the wrong way and was now standing in front of Primula's and Drogo's bedroom.

_What _were they doing? They could not be sleeping at that time of the day, could they? Should they not be outside helping with the others? It was autumn, after all, and there was still a great deal of workto do.

He opened the door, which was, of course, not locked. No hobbit in his right mind would look his door. "What are …?" he never finished his sentence.

He blushed, closed the door and headed for the kitchen in a hurry. He did not shout at anyone that day.

IIIII

Drogo and Primula packeda basket with food and two blankets and they departed in the afternoon.

They made their way up the river for a couple of hours. Thus they would be able to let the river carry them home later.

After a while Drogo gave the paddles to Primula.

"Now," he opened the basket, " let's have our afternoon tea."

Primula nodded eagerly, for she was feeling slightly weary.

She could see bread and cheese, a bottle wine and a couple of pears.

The sight sickened her stomach.

"I am,"she stopped paddling for a moment, looking concerned " …not hungry "

" Not hungry?" Drogo asked

He frowned and doing so helooked very much like his son . "You are a little bit pallid today… are you alright?" He touched her brow with his slender fingers.

" I don't feel too well. I think I need some sleep," she admitted.

Drogo closed the basket and looked at her again. She _was_ very pale indeed.

"Hand me the paddles and take some rest, then," he said.

She did as he had told her and then she laid down on the boat's swaying ground,and closed her eyes. The sun was warm and soft upon her face, and there was no darkness; even with her eyes shut she could see the sun as a soft red light. The murmuring of the river and the boat's constant rocking movements soon lulled her into sweet dreams.

IIIII

Drogo leaned forward and kissed her brow as she descended into sleep. Herlips curved into a tiny lingering smile. Drogo held both paddles in one hand, andran the other through Primula's curls, marvelling at her beauty. With a loving smile he opened the basket again, searching for a blanket he could give to her.

Out of the corners of his eyes he noticed that Primula had tied green ribbons into her hair. Drogo raised his eyebrows in surprise. Primula owned a pair of green ribbons, but she never wore them as they kept ketting caught just everywhere.

There had been no ribbons a minute before. And obviously there were no ribbons now.

A snake lay beside her head, hiding under the redbrown curls. Apparently it had been sleeping in the warm sun, but was now feeling disturbed.

Its body was long and green; the eyes were red and surrounded by thickyellow circles.

It hissed, the ugly head swaying from one side to the other, the awful tongue almost touching Primula's neck.

"Go away," Drogo's voice was firm, buthis eyes were wide with fear, "You will not harm her!"

When the snake did not move he kicked it. The snake hissed again and then it curled itself around Drogo's leg. The green body was very cold, colder than anything Drogo had ever felt in his life. The hobbit flinched and tried to shake the snake off his leg. A fire seemed to burn in the snake's red eyes when it hit its teeth deep into Drogo's skin. A wave of searing pain blinded him for a second and he did not see how the animal sneaked away, how it went back into the water, where it would lie silently, waiting for the next victim, without a noise.

Neither did he notice, that his left hand went limp. Yet, he could her thesoft splash when the paddle fell out of his hand and into the water.

His vision cleared soon. Primula was still sleeping peacefully, and his leg didnot hurt at all. Drogo bent over to inspect it, but all he foundwerea few droplets of drying blood. He wiped them away with his other foot. He did not feel too bad. A little bit dizzy perhaps, but that might have been because of the shock.

Ifhe was lucky, the snake had not been venomous. And if he was very lucky Primula would never find out about his encounter with the snake.

There was no point scaring her, as long as he was feeling alright.

He did not know that the poison had temporally numbed the wound.

Soon he would be in pain, and then he would be beyond any help.

Drogo leaned out of the boat, in an attempt to pull the paddle back in, but his arm was too short. It did not matter, though. The boat could be moved easily with only one paddle.

IIIII

Primula, in the meantime, was about to wake up. Her eyes were still closed and her outer appearance was that of a sleeping hobbit, but she was awake.

She had the odd feeling of a cold hand brushing over her face and of raindrops falling all around her. "Drogo," she mumbled wearily, " Stop fooling around".

"I didn't do anything, dear". He was not joking. She could feel it. Confused she sat up and leaned against his knees. There was no rain falling, but she was sure that there had been raindrops. Many raindrops. Looking up she saw that the sky had changed.

She frowned and pointed at a few dark clouds in the east, which were drawing closer quickly. Primula thought she could hear the distant grumbling of thunder.

"Looks like Saradoc has been right," she said "There will be a storm soon. We'd better go home."

"Go?" Drogo asked, " You want me to…" hisvoice broke and he fell silent.

His legs twitched in what could not have been adeliberate movement.

" What is it?" Primula turned around and froze. She stared at Drogo's face andthe words died on her tongue.

A greenish liquid was trickling from his nose and from the corners of his mouth; his eyes were dull and bloodshot.

"What has happened?" Primula choked.

Drogo tried to speak, causing more of the liquid to run down his chin.

"Something bit me," he slurred "A …don't know…snake".

His breath was now coming in agonized gasps and he was swaying. He let go of o the last paddle and the river immediately carried it away. Primula saw it, but paid no attention to it. Too scared she was by what was happening to her beloved husband.

" It happened while I was asleep, didn't it?Why didn't you tell me, Drogo? "

Primula stood up hastily, almost causing the small boat to turn over. She laid one hand on each of Drogo's shoulders.

"Where did that foul creature bite you?" she asked.

He moaned and closed his eyes. "Tell me," Primula begged, " Please. You must tell me."

But he did not answer. He shuddered, mumbled a word that sounded like "Sorry," and then he slumped into her arms. She caught him and steadied his head against her shoulder.

The boat was out of control now, it was going faster and faster; it stopped and started spinning, and then it went on again.

Carefully Primula examined Drogo's arms, his hands and his legs and finally she found two tiny red points, only inches above his left ankle. " Can you hear me, Drogo?" she asked softly.

Much to her relief, he nodded. " There is almost no blood," she continued in the same soft voice. "Still, I think I should bind something above the wound to keep the poison from making its way to your heart."

Speaking those words she ripped of a part of her skirt and tied it firmly around Drogo's leg. " That should help you, my dear," she whispered into one of his ears. " I'll get us to the shore now."

With Drogo still leaning against her chest she wanted to grab the paddles. They were not there.

Primula glared around in panic, suddenly becoming aware of the fact that Drogo had let go of the last paddle only minutes ago.

How was she to regain control over the boat without a paddle?

Despairing she hung her head, listened to Drogo's shallow breathingand rubbed his back. "You'll be fine," she whispered in the voice she usually used to soothe her child. " We'll look after you well".

Tears were blurring her vision. Through the veil of tears the trees, which were growing on both sides of the river looked like living beings with extremely long arms and legs.

She wiped at her cheeks with the end of a sleeve.

The trees!

Of course…

Seemingly, Drogo had the same idea, for he lifted his head and sat up straight, searching for a branch they could use.

Primula watched his face vigilantly. He looked better now that the green fluid had dried around his nose and mouth. His cheeks were regaining a paler shade of their usual rosy colour.

" That one will do it," he said, pointing at a branch, which was almost broken. It reached far into the river andtouched the surface of the water.

It would be easy to use it as a paddle.

Primulastood up and tried to pull it into the boat. The branch moaned loudly, and then it splinteredwith the sound of braking bones. It was heavier than she had expected it to be and it fell out of her handsand hit Drogo's right temple.

IIIII

"Drogo," she yelped, "I am sorry…I am so sorry."

She knelt down beside him and reached out for his hands. "Your poor head."

She touched his templesand his hair and when she pulled back her hand she wept, for it was covered with warm blood. In the distance, the thunder was growing louder.

"Drogo, I'm sorry, I did not mean to hurt you, I am so sorry." She called his name many times, but it was in vain.

" Will you not look at me?" she sobbed and placed her head on his chest. She could hear that his heart was still beating, and he did look at her, in the end. He opened his eyesand coughed foamy blood. " 'tis alright, " he croaked. "not your fault."

He tried to smile, but failed. Primula was holding his hands tightly. "'tis not because of that branch," Drogo went on " It is the snake, Primula….".

There was a short brake, in which there was no sound but the whining of the coming storm and a cry of a haunted animal in the forest.

" Frodo…" Drogo pressed Primula's hands "…. You've got to swim, love. Our son needs you. Be strong. He will need you…"

" But I can't leave you here!" she exclaimed. " You'd die if I left you".

Drogo cast her a sad glance " I will. Whether you leave me or not. I love…"

"Don't you say that," she was very close to his face now. Their brows were almost touching each other. "You saved me when I gave birth to our son," her voice was shaking "Why can I not save you?"

Drogo did not react.

Primula shuddered. " Please," she sobbed, "don't leave me."

"…Primula…" his eyes would not focus on her. "Please…go now…for Frodo."

It was very important to him, and thus she nodded.

"Yes," she kissed his cold lips " For Frodo."

Drogo's eyes rolled back in their sockets and closed. His hands went limp.

Something in Primula broke at that sight.

IIIII

She did not intend to swim, though. She would not leave her husband. She would take him towards the riverbank, and then to Brandy Hall. There somebody would find the right antidote and then Drogo would be healed. Frodo was too young to lose his father…

_'But,' _she figured, '_would it not be worse if he lost both of his parents? What if…oh no...no I won't think about it…_'

She touched Drogo's brow. " You stay asleep, love" she murmured " I'll take care of you, and of Frodo, as long as you're too ill to do so."

She sat up and wanted to grab the branch, but the boat hit a stone and stopped, and Primula and the branch were tossed out.

The water was cold and crept through her skirtat once. She lost her sense of orientation for a moment and swam into the wrong direction, away from the boat.

She moaned and turned around, fighting against the river and her own exhaustion. She struggled to reach the boat. It was stuck between two rocks, swaying slightly as the waves grew stronger.

With all that was left of her strength Primula heaved herself back into the boat and laid down beside Drogo, panting heavily.

" I'm back," she breathed. " I will stay with you".

The waves were still becoming higher; now and then they collapsed over the boat.

For Frodo's sake Primula began to shout for help, but her voice was thin and frightened, and could have been that of a dying bird.

IIIII

She was cold and injured and grew confused very fast. She forgot everything she had ever learned about boating accidents and remained bent over her husband, staring at his pale face,willing him to wake up again.

Around her the waves licked at the boat, waiting patiently for their victims to come.

Dark clouds were chasing each other over a troubled sky and soonthe first drops of rain fell on Primula's cheeks where they mingled with her tears. She cupped her hands around Drogo's face, to keep the rain from falling upon it.

A flash of light ripped through the darkening sky. In thedarkness that followed she thought that she was not looking at Drogo's face anymore, but at her son's. He seemed to beasleep on a dark stony ground. And he was at least twenty yearsolder. "It is the cold," Primula thought, "It makes me see weird things. None of this is happening…"

With the next flash of light the picture was gone and then it changed once more

Now Frodo was running througha forest, with another young hobbit lad. The other one had the same huge nose as Saradoc.

The boat was knocked over by a huge wave; it hit a second stone and was smashed into pieces.

Primulasaw how Frodo grew up and became a handsome young gentlehobbit. She saw him smile with an ease and happiness he would never again find in his life. And she took the smile with her as she went, still holding her beloved husband, in a desperate and useless try to protect him.

She was aware of water and of the cold, butshe did not feel any pain. The waves hugged her and lulled her into the last deep sleep. Her blood turned cold and so did her lips; her heart slowed down and finally stopped beating. Her spirit drifted away never to return and the waves tossed her now lifeless body around as if it was not more than a faded leaf. Her long hair floated behind her like silk and the moon was reflected in her eyes. There was a hint of surprise in their brown depths, but no fear.

Her lips were half parted in a welcoming smile.

IIIII

Beautiful she was in those last moments, when she was still close; still close enough to life to be brought back by healing hands and elvish medicine. Yet there were no elves, who could have heard her last silent pleas. There were three of them swimming up the Baranduin; three, who had remained elves in their souls, but their bodies were those of dolphins. Also, they were too far away to help.

Primula's beauty was washed away by the cold water and she was a scaring sight for those , who found her.


	10. Chapter Nine No tears

**No tears – chapter nine**

It was early in the morning when Frodo woke up.

Something wet was wrapped around his calves, and a glass, a greenish bottle and a small candle were standing on his bedside table. The room smelled strongly of herbs.

He had been dreaming a lot during the last days, and now he was not sure whether he was really awake, or if he was dreaming again. He tried to sit up.

It made him gasp with pain, but at least the pain brought back some form of reality.

He rubbed at his eyes, which wouldn't focus on anything, and with a fairly disgusted grimace he wrapped himself out of the wet cloths.

He could hear voices in the kitchen, hushed sad voices; all voices seemed to be soft and sad lately.

Lily was talking to another female hobbit, offering her the usual cup of tea and some biscuits, but the other one said, no, she'd better be leaving; days were short and her way home was long. Lily sighed. The voices drew away. Frodo first thought that it was because of him slumping back into sleep, but then the front door fell shut and he knew that Lily had accompanied her guest to the door.

Soft pattering noises on the floor told him that she was coming back.

She opened the door, but he shut his eyes quickly and pretended to be fast asleep. He did not want to talk.

It did not take a long time, and there was no need in pretending anymore, for he had been very ill, and sleep was strong.

When Frodo woke up once more it was short after midday already.

His first impression, however, was that it was still very early in the morning; the sky was still grey, and the outside world seemed to be very silent.

Frodo turned around, to lie on his back. He glared at the ceiling with a questioning expression on his weary face.

He could now recall most of what had happened, but still there were horribly black pitches in his memory, and they gave him the feeling of standing upon some dreadful brink, and the abyss was deep and if he fell he would never get out…or hit the ground.

His father had brought him to Lily…and Lily had sent him out to play…Mr Maggot had beaten him, because…because of what…? And then he had been sick…. he wanted to find his parents, but he felt too weak to get up… he climbed a tree, but the branch broke, and he fell into the river… and then? Had there not been…?

He tried to think, but his head ached and the more he tried to recall things, the worse grew the pain.

_Iorhael_ whispered a faint voice _Iorhael._

Iorhael.

Frodo smiled, in spite of his misery.

Yes, whoever had rescued him; they had called him Iorhael.

Had there not been dolphins?

"Dolphins?" he frowned. "I must have been hallucinating. There are no dolphins in our rivers…or are there?"

He snuggled deep into his pillow and closed his eyes. "I'm almost sure there are," he whispered.

He was still tired, and close to sleep, but he became aware of a good smell. Shaking all over he got out of his bed and took a few steps. And some more. And some more, until he had reached his room's door.

IIIII

Lily was hurrying from one side of the kitchen to the other, but stopped as she realized that Frodo had gotten out of his bed.

He looked so young and vulnerable, as he stood there in the threshold, swaying slightly, his face as pale as the snow on the windowsill.

" You shouldn't be up and walking already," Lily longed to say, but the thoughts which kept hammering through her minds confused her and paralysed her tongue.

She nodded, forcing a smile on her features. "'Lo Frodo. You look much better today."

Even to her own ears her words sounded false and helpless.

The young hobbit winced with pain as he stepped closer.

"Can't breathe," he managed and sank down on a chair.

" Sorry," he whispered, seeing the frightened glance his aunt was casting him. "But I woke up with my rips hurting. Why do they hurt? What happened? They are not broken, are they?"

Lily took the pan off the fire.

" No," she said, shaking her head, " They are not broken, just bruised, poor dear, that's why you can't breathe properly."

She went on talking, even as Frodo didn't answer.

"You're very pale. Would you like me to bring you back to your room?"

Frodo, who had buried his head in his arms, looked up. Red shadows were underlying his eyes, and those seemed to be as pale and lifeless as the sky outside.

"I'd like to lie down," he confessed. " But I'm also hungry. What smells so nice?"

Lily was delighted to hear him say he was hungry. He hadn't shown much interest in food for a long time now, and that was a sad thing, considering he was a very young hobbit, who still had to grow. " Mushrooms, love," she said and smoothed his curls. Much to her surprise the child glared at her in horror. "Mushrooms? Where did you get mushrooms from at that time of the year?"

Lily turned towards her pan, and took a plate out of the cupboard. Frodo recognized it with a tiny grin, it was the blue plate, the one he had liked best as a small child. "Lily?" he asked "what about those mushrooms, now?"

"Oh," she made " I meant to tell you. Mrs Maggot came early this morning. She was rather worried about you, dear, because…because of what happened…and she was wondering whether your back had healed by now, I marvel how she could know you were beaten… - what is it, Frodo?"

She had not mentioned his wounds since that terrible evening, which was now two weeks ago.

The longest and the shortest two weeks of her entire life, they had been.

Her cousin had stood up abruptly, and was struggling to breathe.

" Tired," he whispered. " I'm going back to bed. I'm sorry Lily."

"Sorry?" she asked. " Now, you shouldn't be…"

IIIII

But the lad did not listen; he stumbled into his room and locked the door from the inside.

Lily stood there, still holding the pan, and wept, for she did not understand.

IIIII

"Please," Frodo begged. "I haven't been outside for more than three weeks. "

"All right then," Lily gave in. Their discussion had been going on for almost half an hour by now. "But don't be too long. You're still weak and it is a very cold winter this year."

"I'll be back in an hour," he promised, wrapping a scarf around his face.

Lily was about to tell him that the green colour was making him look awfully pale, put she kept her mouth shut and brought her cousin to the door.

" Take care," she said, kissing his brow.

Frodo turned around without any further words, and walked away quickly. A fragile, dark -haired child in the white hills.

He had no idea where he wanted to go. All he knew was that he needed to get away, far away.

He reached the river after a short while. It was completely frozen. Frodo put a foot on it, but it gave a crackling noise and he withdrew quickly, his hands buried deep in his pockets.

The young hobbit walked along the riverside until his rips started hurting too badly to go on.

He sat down under a tree, and looked up.

A branch was missing. He thought this was the tree he had climbed to have a better look around, but it was the one his mother had seen, and the branch had been the one she wanted to use as a paddle. He could not know that, of course, and it would have been no comfort to him, had he known it.

He lay down in the snow and watched how the sky grew grey, and then dark. Soon the tree was like a white, slim figure against the black firmament. Still snow kept falling, cooling his face, and covering him. Frodo wanted to stay there, under the tree, wanted to forget and to be forgotten. Forever.

Something was poking into his back. The young hobbit sat up, and tried to find the stone. He would throw it as far away as possible, and then he would lie down again…sleep…rest without thoughts…forever…

What he found in the snow was no stone, but a small piece of wood.

It was very dark by now and Frodo had to hold it close to eyes to recognize its strange shape. It would need a tiny bit of carving – but it already looked, unmistakably, like a dolphin.

Memories started to overwhelm him.

There _were _dolphins in the river. And they had found him, when he had been already half-drowned. One of them had been an elven-king once, and his name was Amroth.

They had risked their own lives to save his.

It would be very rude indeed to stay here and wait for the cold to kill him.

Frodo got up, moaning as his far too cold legs were forced to carry his weight. He headed back to Lily's hobbit hole, slowly at first and then faster and faster, the silence around him pressing hard on his ears, his lungs burning with each agonized breathe.

After half the way he tumbled sideways into a thorny bush. He could feel how the sharp thorns cut his skin through his cloak.

Recoiling, he tried to get to his feet, only to lose his balance and to fall into the bush, semi-conscious by now, once more.

The next thing he was aware of was the noise of soft, fast paws dashing over the snow, and a loud howl.

Frodo gave a helpless yelp, worked himself out of the bush, and ran.

IIIII

He sighed with relief when the hobbit hole's windows came into sight. They were sparkling and twinkling through the falling snow, like a pair of friendly eyes.

The door was not locked. Lily seldom locked her door.

She was waiting for him inside.

"My lad!" she exclaimed, helping him out of his torn, drenched cloak " Where have you been?"

Frodo squirmed out of her grip.

"For a walk," he said gravely and went into his room, and locked the door once more.

Lily had put a candle on his bedside table. It was burning merrily, turning his repaired window into a mirror. Ghastly memories threatened to stir at the deep bottom of Frodo's thoughts, but something kept them back. It was no relief, however.

Memories would have kept him from feeling angry with himself. From that terrible, new feeling, that was naught but hate. Hate for those, who had not been able to help his parents. For his parents. For himself.

He took a deep, shuddering breath. He felt as if someone had stabbed him, somewhere between his heart and his stomach.

When he became aware of the fact that he was still clutching the 'dolphin' he cast it away; it rolled over the floor and vanished under his bed.  
As Frodo looked up, his gaze fell upon the window once more.

"Don't look at me this way," he suddenly hissed at his pale reflection. " You know perfectly well they could still be alive if you had told them about your dream. You knew something terrible was going to happen to them. Why didn't you tell them? Did you _want _them to die? I think you did. You don't seem to be too sorry about them."

_'I am.'_

"No, you are not. A child that had truly loved his parents would be sad, and weeping, but you aren't. You're doing neither."

_'I…'_

"And when Lily asked you if you'd accompany her to your parent's grave you pretended to be asleep once more. A good child - a child that deserved parents as loving as yours – would have gone with her, and…"

_'Stop it…'_

His reflection's eyes were full of loathing.

Frodo's voice was weak, and shuddering with fear and disgust when he spoke again "I'm loosing my mind"

With those last words he collapsed and knocked his head on the windowsill. He hit the floor with a dull thud and tried to get up before his aunt would come in. But then he remembered that he had locked the door and he remained motionless, glaring at the ceiling for a long time.

IIIII

When night's cold came creeping through his clothes, he finally stood up. No light was seeping through the door anymore and Frodo tiptoed towards it and opened it carefully. There was no sign of Lily; she had probably gone to bed. She had probably wept herself into sleep. Because of him. The candle was still burning. Frodo extinguished the flame with his bare hands.

He thought he would scream, and once he started he would not be able to stop anymore.

He hid under his blankets and pressed his face into the pillow.

He did not scream.

He did not weep.

And the voice was there again.

"Great, Frodo," it snarled, "Sooner or later Lily will hate you as much as Saradoc does. And as your parents would do, if they knew how you're behaving…"

Under his blanket he bit his tongue until the metallic taste of his own blood made him feel nauseated.

IIIII

Lily came in later, opening the door with a spare key, and found her cousin in a deep slumber. She had not been sleeping, and not crying either. She had waited in the kitchen for a couple of hours, and when Frodo did not come to have supper she had left and gone to her own room. There she had washed Frodo's cloak and mended it.

She flung the cloak over his chair and sat down by his side. Frodo had turned towards the wall, and his blankets covered his face. His breathing was fast and shallow. Lily smoothed a few rebellious curls, not knowing how to help her younger cousin.

"Lily," he muttered, his eyes fluttering open "_Lily…"_

"It's alright," she soothed, confused by the frightened quality of his voice. "I'm here. It is alright now."

He calmed down, and turned around to face her. There was something dark on his pillow.

"What's that?" Lily carefully lifted his head and glared at the red dots in horror. "Nothing," Frodo sighed and leaned into her touch.

" Nothing at all. I had a nosebleed, but it's over." He observed her face carefully, but there was no sign of disbelief on it.

" Poor thing," Lily started to caress his brow and Frodo felt too tired and too lost, to tell her to stop it. "Would you like me to bring you a cool cloth? You're warm to the touch…" Lily asked, but Frodo had fallen asleep again.

IIIII

"Well," said the healer, his huge hands touching the now slightly yellow bruises on Frodo's chest.

"Except for these you're fine, Frodo. There must be more to you than meets the eye, I don't know many who would have survived such a long time in an icy river." He was obviously proud of his own work. "Smile, Frodo," he said and gently he pressed the boy's shoulder. "Are you not glad to be alive and sound?"

The lad nodded but did not answer. He was watching Lily, who was busy making tea. "However, I think you'd better stay here at your aunt's house for a little longer, three more weeks perhaps. Then you should have gained some weight and I will let you go back to Brandy Hall to live there among your cousins…"

Frodo thought of the giggling the girls, and of the room he would have to share with Griffo. Saradoc had sent a letter to Lily, in which he had told her that it would be better for Frodo to share a room with someone. Lily had agreed, thinking that some company would not hurt the lad. Nobody had asked Frodo.

The young hobbit thought of the huge kitchens. He closed his eyes and wished he had stayed in the snow the other day.

Lily interpreted the terrified look on his face correctly. "You don't have to go," she said, handing him his trousers and a shirt, " You can stay here as long as you like. It's just that we think some company of other children…" she waited for him to cast her a fierce glance, but he did not even look at her. "…Children of your own age might be good for you, my lad. You've been through a lot lately. You need laughter and…"

The lad nodded again and grabbed his clothes. He hopped of the table and stared out of the window. Then he shook his head, trying to get rid of a peculiar thought.

He yawned widely, and wasn't quick enough to cover his mouth.

"Hang on, Frodo!" The healer was at his side in an instant, holding his chin and forcing him to open his mouth again. When he had watched the young, yawning hobbit, he had seen odd marks on the boy's tongue. He wondered why he had not realized them before.

"What's that on your tongue?" he wanted to know. " Nothing" came the solemn response. " Bit it in my sleep, I figure. May I go? Please aunt Lily, it's so cold…." Lily and the healer exchanged looks. _Grown-up _looks, which Frodo did not understand. But then his aunt nodded and he made for his room as fast as he could. " Frodo!" the healer called him back before he had reached the door. Frodo turned around, avoiding the healer's eyes.

Now they would want to know about his back. Now he would have to tell them he wasn't only a murderer, but also a thief.

But the healer only smiled at him and pressed his cold hands. "I want to apologize for almost breaking your rips," he explained "Lily told me they put you in a great deal of pain when you first got up. I did not intend _that_."

" Yes," the young hobbit mumbled, "I mean…thank you…"

"Good child," the healer said as Frodo closed the door behind him "Got some strength in him, he has. I did not think he would make it, when you brought him to me"

Lily sighed " Me neither." The kettle gave a sharp whistle, but she seemed oblivious to it.

" If had not been for you …and Ivy…. we might have lost him"

The kettle kept whistling sharply, emitting thick white clouds.

" Oh, be quiet," moaned Lily. She got up and poured the boiling water over the leaves and herbs. She sat down again. "I don't know how to thank you for what you have done…I thought … when we got him out of the water… I thought he would join his parents before the next morning…"

The healer merely nodded.

"Still I wonder if this would not have been better, cruel as it sounds. He loved them so much"

Lily continued.

Frodo in the meantime had dressed and was now sitting on his bed, half leaning against the wall, his head resting on his knees, his hands lying limply on the colourful counterpane. It was not midday yet, and felt completely spent already.

IIIII

He did not want to, but he could hear every single word of the conservation.

"How is he coping, Lily?" the healer asked.

At first there was no reply. Frodo assumed that Lily was adding sugar to her tea, taking a few sips and burning her lower lip.

The sound of china being put back onto the table too fast proved him right.

How well he knew her.

How much he loved her.

How ungrateful he was.

He bit his tongue, tasted blood, opened the window and spit it off.

" Far too well, for my liking" came Lily's answer, hesitantly and in a low voice. She did not want Frodo to know _how_ worried she was. " He does not cry," she said. Frodo watched as the snow turned red.

" I don't know what he is doing at nights and when he is alone, in his room or on a walk, but I don't think he's crying. I'm not even sure if he _knows _his parents won't come back. He never ever talks about them…well… he does not talk at all unless asked something… "

Frodo, knowing that he could not keep gnawing on his tongue without causing his aunt's suspense, pressed his nails into the inside of his hands. It hurt, and it helped to shut out the voices, at least for a while.

" …Blood on his pillow," Lily continued "says he's having nosebleeds at night…did you find anything?"

"Nothing. Poor little boy, he must be terribly sad."

"Sad," Frodo told the bloody snow in a soft, desperate voice " I am not sad at all."

Closing the window he turned around and sat down on his bed.

"I'm not sad, mother," he whispered into nothingness. "But I'm sorry. Two weeks and I've already forgotten what your voice was like. Two more weeks and I won't remember what was so special about you. Two months and I won't remember you at all. I'm sorry."

He remained in silence for a little while, waiting for the walls to crumble, or for his heart to stop beating, but nothing happened. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the cold wall.

His eyes were sore and itchy. He kept rubbing at them at nights, in desperate try to cause them to weep. It never worked, though. He had not wept since he had woken up.

Waves of dizziness came and went, the whole room seemed to be swaying. Knowing that he had to do something to distract himself, Frodo got up from the bed. His legs were hurting. He must have spent more time in his crouched position than he had realized. There were no more voices talking, the healer had obviously left.

He knelt down beside his bed and tried to see something under it, apart from dust and - he winced – a couple of extremely large but fortunately lifeless spiders. He lay down flat on his stomach and searched for his dolphin. His hair was covered with cobwebs, when he finally found it.

Now all he needed was a knife. He had never carved anything before, but he had watched his father doing so, and it seemed to be easy, and fun.

Though – did someone like him deserve having any fun at all?

Casting the thought away, he stored the piece of wood in his pocket, and went into kitchen.

Lily was not there. She was not in her room, either, and Frodo did not feel like calling for her.

Frowning, he started searching in the large wooden cupboard, but all he found were forks, spoons and plates. He sat down thinking, and recalled that, as a very small toddler, he had hurt himself badly when using one of his aunts knifes to cut an apple. Since that day Lily kept all knifes in a box at the cupboard's highest shelf, which he still could not reach. He pushed his chair to the cupboard, and climbed it. He smiled. There was the box he had been looking for.

Now Lily was also storing pottery there. Standing at the top of his toes, Frodo tried to pull out the box carefully. It was much heavier than he had expected; it slipped through his fingers, and the pottery shattered. There had been strawberry jam in some of the pots, and now parts of the floor were covered with the reddish, sticky substance.

In a hurry, Frodo jumped down from the chair, and grabbed a knife. He wanted to bring it into his room. Then he would come back and clean up the mess.

He could hear footsteps drawing closer and stayed where he was, as if turned to stone. He was not surprised to find that Lily was back from wherever she had been. She appeared to come from the cellar, as she was carrying a basket, filled with apples.

"So you're awake," she said, not so much as mentioning the mess he had caused "You've been so silent, I thought you had gone to sleep again." Then she spotted the knife and her eyes grew wide.

"Frodo?" she asked, alarmed " what do you need a knife for?" The young hobbit showed her the piece of wood. Lily frowned. " You want to carve something? You can't use that knife for carving, dear. Come with me, I'll give you a better one." With those words she took the knife out off his cold hands and put it back into the cupboard. " It is for cutting bread, my foolish little cousin," she said. She turned around, opening the kitchens backdoor. She shuddered. " My, it's getting cold again today, you'd better put on a cloak or something, Frodo".

The young hobbit rushed into his room, where found his cloak, washed and mended.

Lily was waiting for him already. She looked around sighing. "Alas, what a cruel winter! Look at my roses, Frodo, all of them frozen and dead, same with my apple trees. We did not have such a winter for _ages._ But come with me now." She led the way towards a small cottage at the other end of her garden. Ivy had spread all over it's front side, though now it was leafless and brown, looking like dry fingers of a huge wooden hand. The door was not locked, but it took Lily an effort to open it, as it seemed to be frozen.

She managed to open it with a couple of well-aimed kicks. She thrust it open, and a small avalanche that came down from the hut's roof immediately covered her hair. She shook the snow out off her face and begged Frodo to follow her inside. He stayed at the threshold.

He could hear her rummaging inside, but the light was too dim to see her clearly. She came out again after a short time, handing him a knife that was much smaller, but sharper. " This one will do," she said. " What do you want to carve, by the way?…

_Love…_? Why won't talk to me…."

There was a slightly worn out expression in her face, an expression that had not been there before. She looked like she had aged years during the last few weeks.

"A dolphin, maybe. I don't know," he finally said. Lily eyed at him with surprise. Then she touched his hair briefly and went back into the kitchen. Frodo remained where he was, as if paralysed; his hand clinging to the knife so hard that the blade almost cut into the inside of his fingers.

The days were short now, and it was getting dark already. It was also snowing once more. Lily's and his footsteps filled quickly with new snow, and soon they were not visible anymore.

The wind rustled through the dead trees, causing them to moan and sway. A raven, disturbed from its sleep, rose up into the darkening sky, emitting a pained scream as it flew.

The young hobbit left, sinking deep into the snow and stepping on something comparatively soft. He kneeled down to see what he had stepped on. It was a greyish bird, lying on its back, small black eyes half closed, wings covered with ice.

Frodo's fingers cramped into the knife's sharp edge.

He had never felt so useless and lonely before.

IIIII

" You've got everything? Clothes? Food? Comb?"

Frodo nodded.

He had not gained weight and he did not look any stronger than when he first got up from bed after his illness. And he still refused to speak. By now, he thought he had almost forgotten how to do it.

Lily blamed herself for her young cousin's miserable state, thinking she should have done better.

"Saradoc will be here soon, let's have something warm to eat before you have to leave. A long way lies ahead of you, and I don't want you to get too exhausted. Come on dear, sit down, eat something." She made an inviting gesture towards the table, where she had placed two bowls of steaming soup.

Frodo put down his small trunk, which was containing only a second garniture of clothes, a comb (Lily consisted he took it, though both of them knew he would not use it), some dried apple slices and the small wooden dolphin he had not shown to anyone yet.

" I know you're not hungry," Lily soothed " You just eat something small, that's enough."

Frodo helped himself to a few spoons of the warm soup, looked up questioningly and pushed the bowl away some inches.

Lily shook her head in mild frustration. " You might faint, if you don't eat," she said. "You surely don't want this to happen, do you?"

The lad shrugged.

Neither of them spoke.

" Lily…" he touched her hands for a brief moment. She looked up, and smiled at him. " What is it?" she asked.

" I…"he couldn't speak on.

_Keep me here. _Frodo thought. _I know I'm causing you naught but trouble, but please let me stay here, please; I don't want to go …there. _He stared at his hands, now feeling closer to crying than ever since he had been pulled out of the river.

" Its nothing," he sighed.

Lily began to sob helplessly, covering her face with her hands. "Lily!" Frodo exclaimed, taken aback.

"I'm…'I'm so…so…oh don't cry, Lily, don't cry, please... don't!" he stammered. " I did not mean to… please…"

Frodo hurried out of the kitchen and came back with a box of white handkerchiefs. Lily in the meantime had dried her eyes already, using her skirt's sleeves. He put the small packet on the table and stumbled backwards, until he hit the wall, and couldn't go further. _I apologize, _he meant to say, but all that came out when he opened his mouth again, was a hoarse sound, barely audible.

" Its all right," came Lily's muffled voice. " 'Tis alright Frodo, love, don't worry about your old cousin…" she stifled another sob. "So what did you want to tell me?"

He started gnawing on his finger. "Don't you," Lily said.

Frodo closed his eyes.

"Frodo…Frodo?" his cousin's hand was warm upon his clammy brow.

" How are you feeling? Or _what_?"

The young hobbit stood and watched as the snow kept falling, as it buried the world under a thick white blanket of silence. His skin was grey in the pale winter's light; one half of his face remained hidden in darkness.

" Nothing," he said in a clear voice, young and horrible and hopeless.

" I feel nothing"


	11. Chapter ten Nenuial

Chapter ten – Nenuial

( I'm not sure about the places, times and characters. Please be lenient, if something is wrong)

At the beginning of the third age, a long time before the first periannath reached the Shire, the kings of Arnor dwelled in a white city they called Annuminas - The tower of the west. The city was built on the southern shore of Lake Evendim, and both the water and the mountains, which surrounded three quarters of the lake, sheltered it.

Yet they were not the first to live there. Many years ago, when the shadow in the East had been naught but a dark whisper and a rumour, elves had been living there. Among them lived Galadriel and Celeborn, who later became the lords of Lothlorien.

The land was green, gentle and beautiful; the water of the lake was clear and cool. It was a good place to be, especially in autumn, when the grass was high and the trees were clad in red and yellow.

The lake was as silent and still as a mirror, and a fire seemed to burn within the depths of the water, when the golden trees were reflected by the surface. At sunset the snow on the mountains shone with a red glow too, thus filling the valley with a soft light, which lingered there even when the sky had already darkened. Not idly did the elves call the lake 'Nenuial'.

From time to time Galadriel would stand in the waist-high green grass and watch the lake, as is it narrowed, and finally formed a river. The river, known as Baranduin, was quick and thin, not much more than a deep stream at first, but in the distance it got broader and broader. The waters flew south, to the see, carrying golden leaves and small pieces of wood. When the fair elvenmaid watched as the autumn leaves were carried away, she longed to be one of them. She longed to be carried to the sea too, and wished to hear the cries of the gulls, and a faint hope that a ship with white sails might be waiting for her at the shores stirred in her heart.

Yet she knew that no ship would carry her home.

The years passed by, and Sauron began to stir in Middle-earth again. It was in that time that Galadriel gave birth to her first son, who was called Amroth.

Amroth was still a child when the elves left Lake Nenuial to fight against Sauron. His parents went eastward and founded Eregion there. Celeborn was not pleased by the idea of living close the dwarves that dwelled in Khazad-dum, but his love for Galadriel was strong enough to follow her.

Unlike him, Galadriel knew that the dwarves were talented warriors.

Also, the dwarves were Aule's children, and Galadriel, being a Noldor, had been Aule's and Yavanna's scholar in Valinor.

IIIII

For many years, Nenuial remained in silence, until men came to live there.

They rebuilt the city and lived there until the Witch-king of Angmar invaded Arnor. The few, who were not slain, flew and only smoking ruins were left behind.

Ivy spread over the white stones; the waters of the lake rose and many of the city's buildings vanished beyond the lake's surface and were never seen again.

The men of Arnor had been great artists and many of their halls had been decorated by their paintings. Now that the pictures were covered by water, they gradually lost their colour. The faces of kings and elves became as white as the stones, their hair turned grey and soon their dark eyes were blind.

The halls that once had been filled with people were now deserted. Fishes swam in and out through the doors and windows, and red sea grass swayed to the rhythm of a music, which was no longer played. There was nothing but silence left of the men and elves, who had lived there once.

IIIII

It was autumn again, when Amroth returned to the place where he had been born. The sun was vanishing behind the mountains, and the depths of Nenuial were burning.

The dolphin's song was very faint now for they were weakened form their long journey.

Their slender, dark forms cut through the silent waters, causing the fishes to flee and seek shelter under big stones and in the ruins of Annuminas. There was no need to hide. The dolphins already were too exhausted to eat.

Twilight filled the valley, when the dolphins stopped in the middle. Amroth gave a sharp whistle and the others gathered around him, eyes dark and questioning, mouths forced to smile.

They had the choice of either swimming on until they stranded, or staying in the middle of the lake to drown there. The dolphins exchanged looks of silent love and compassion. Their journey had come to an end, and it had been in vain.

Nobody had listened to their song; nobody had been able to understand the warning. A cold winter would come, followed by many cold years. The great shadow would rise again in the east and conquer Middle – Earth.

Yet, their last song was not a song of despair. It was a song of hope.

They had saved a child from drowning, _Iorhael,_ who would live and tell their story.

Amroth had sensed a lot of strength in Iorhael, a strength that stood in an odd contrast to the child's fragile body. During the last days of their journey, many thoughts had crossed Amroth's mind and he had had many dreams. With one eye alert and awake and the other eye floating in deep dreams he had seen the future.

Iorhael had been small, but not as small as he was now. Life had not been gentle with him, yet his strength had still grown. If there was any being in Middle-earth, who was able to resist the shadows, it was him.

The dolphins sang their last song, and then they died.

Darkness fell, and the pale moon illuminated the lake's tranquil surface.

Never again did any dolphins come to Lake Evendim.

IIIII

The pallid kings and elves watched as the last dolphin sank to the muddy ground.

There was nothing they could do.

They watched with sad, blind eyes.

THE END


End file.
